THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


DESULTORY    REMINISCENCES 


A   TOUR. 


DESULTORY   REMINISCENCES 


A     TOUR 


THROUGH 


GERxMANY,  SWITZERLAND,  AND  FRANCE. 


AN    AMERICAN 


Where  rose  the  mountains,  there  to  him  were  friends  ; 
Where  rolled  the  ocean,  thereon  was  his  home. 

Btron. 


BOSTON: 
WILLIAM     D.    TICKNOR 

PHILADELPHIA: 
E.L.CAREY   AND   A.HART. 

1838. 


Entered  according'  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1838,  by 

William  D.  Ticknor, 

in  the  Clerk's  oiBce  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


CAMBRIDGE: 

FOLSOM,    WELLS,    AND    THURSTON, 

PRINTERS  TO  THE  HNIVERSITT. 


TO  THAT 

AGREEABLE  COTERIE  OF  INTIMATE  FRIENDS, 

WHOSE 

SOCIETY  AND  CONVERSE 

ENLIVENED  HIS  RESIDENCE  IN  PARIS  DURING  THE  WINTER  OF  1835-6, 

THESE     PAGES, 

WHICH  MAY  REVIVE  PLEASANT  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  THE  PAST, 
ARE 

WITH  MUCH  REGARD 

DEDICATED 

BY     THE     AUTHOR. 


ERRATA. 


Page  39,   line  25,  for  marbled,  read  marble. 

"    116,      "  IC,     "    charnpaigiie,         "     champaign. 
"    215,      "    5,     "     arc  struck,  "    we  are  struck. 


PREFACE 


It  is  customary  for  an  Author,  ere  he 
makes  his  dthut  in  character,  to  offer  sun- 
dry apologetic  or  concihatory  remarks,  — 
both  for  the  sake  of  veiHng  his  imperfec- 
tions, and  (more  especially)  for  the  pur- 
pose of  enlisting  in  his  behalf  the  feelings 
of  that  dread  arbiter  who  can  bid  him 
live,  whatever  his  transgression,  or,  ver- 
so poUice,  can  put  an  instant  end  to  his 
sufferings,  by  terminating  at  once  his  lit- 
erary  existence. 

Although  I  shall  attempt  no  formal  apol- 
ogy for  the  infliction  of  these  pages  upon 
the  public,  yet  I  cannot  forbear  saying,  in 
justice  to  myself,  that,  when   the   incidents 


Viii  PREFACE. 

that  are  sketched  in  this  volume  were  ac- 
tually occurring,  no  idea  of  even  so  much 
as  committing  them  to  paper  crossed  my 
mind. 

After  an  absence  of  more  than  two 
years,  I  returned  to  my  native  land.  The 
many  and  interesting  scenes  I  had  passed 
through,  of  which,  heretofore,  in  the  fer- 
ment of  constant  and  ever-varying  action, 
the  mind  had  taken,  as  it  were,  but  hasty 
and  unconscious  cognizance,  —  now,  sur- 
veyed through  the  clear  glass  of  memory, 
—  arranged  themselves  distinctly  and  in 
order  before    me. 

At  first  I  commenced  a  series  of  papers 
to  furnish  occupation  for  the  else  listless 
hour,  and  divert  ennui,  with  perhaps  an 
ulterior  view  toward  furnishing  a  pleasant 
theme  of  reference  for  that  after  period, 
when  the  fresh  hues  of  the  events,  therein 
recorded,  should  have  faded  from  the  tab- 
let of  the  memory. 

By   these    occasional    contributions,    my 


PREFACE.  ix 

manuscript  increased,  in  time,  to  a  consid- 
erable size  ;  and  I  became  at  length  infect- 
ed with  that  prevalent  disease,  the  caco- 
ethes  publicandi  (if  the  critic  will  pardon 
me  the  expression),  which  might  assail 
even  the  wisest.  "  A  book  's  a  book,"  said 
the  noble  poet,  "  e'en  though  there  's  noth- 
ing in  it ; "  and,  in  accordance  with  the 
sentiment,  I  resolved  to  publish.  Void 
"  the  head  and  front  of  my  offending." 

The  pages  constituting  this  volume  are 
submitted  to  the  public  eye,  rather  as  the 
brief  and  *'  desultory  reminiscences  "  of  a 
European  tour,  than  as  a  circumstantial 
note-book  history  of  travels.  The  sketches 
of  Paris,  which  occupy  a  considerable  por- 
tion of  the  volume,  are  the  fruits  of  a 
long  residence  in  that  delightful  Capital, 
and  are  as  authentic,  as  abundant  leisure 
to  observe,  and  a  disposition  not  unwilling 
to  investigate,   would  allow  me  to  obtain. 


X  PREFACE. 

Having  thus  much  premised,  the  Author 
makes  his  first  bow,  in  a  new  character, 
and  wishes  thee,  gentle  reader,  all  health 
and  prosperity. 

Boston,  June  7th,  1838. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

Voyage.  — Havre  de  Grace.  —  Rouen. — Arrival  at  Par- 
is. — Palais  Royal.  —  Theatres.  —  Italian  Opera.  —  Ju- 
lia Grisi.  —  The  Parisian's  Attachment  to  his  City.  — 
Promenades.  —  Courtesy  to  Strangers.  —  Description 
of  the  City.  —  Its  Antiquities.  — Art.  — Parisian  Man- 
ners and  Character.  —  Schedule  of  a  Day.  —  Gambling 
Houses.  —  Small  Fortunes.        ...         .         .       1 

CHAPTER  II. 

London.  —  St.  Paul's  Church.  —  Theatres.  —  King's 
Theatre —  Its  aristocratic  Character.  — Passage  down 
the  Thames.  —  Voyage  to  Rotterdam.  —  Sensations  of 
Foreigners.  — Appearance  of  the  Country.  — Ride  to 
Amsterdam.  —  Reflections  on  Travelling.  —  House 
occupied  by  Peter  the  Great.  —  Description  of  the 
City.  — Amusements.  — Character  of  the  Inhabitants. 
—  Dutch  Paintings  and  Painters.  —  Excursion  to 
Saardam  and  Broeck. .17 


Xii  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER   III. 

Utrecht.  —  Osnabruck.  —  Arrest  for  Cigar-smoking.  — 
Bremen.  —  Extensive  Wine  Cellar.  —  Brunswick.  — 
Antiquity  of  its  Architecture.  —  Its  Environs.  —  Vault 
of  the  Brunswick  Family.  —  The  new  Ducal  Palace.  — 
Hanover.  —  Objects  of  Interest.  —  Government.  — 
Magdeburg.  —  Berlin.  —  The  Palace.  —  The  Royal 
Museum  and  Arsenal.  —  Linden  Street.  —  Public 
Amusements,  —  Theatres.  —  The  Royal  Family.  — 
The  late  Queen  Louisa.  — Potsdam.  — The  Palaces.  — 
Study  of  Frederic  the  Great.  —  The  New  Palace.  — 
Military  Exercises.  —  Sans  Souci.  —  Frederic  the 
Great 28 

CHAPTER   IV. 

Reflections  on  Travel. — Environs  of  Leipsic.  —  The 
Battle-Ground. — Monument  to  Poniatowski. — Ab- 
sence of  Public  Amusements.  — Dresden.  — The  Gal- 
lery of  Paintings. — The  Madonna  of  RafTaelle. — 
Paintings  of  Correggio.  — Jewel  Office  or  Treasury. — 
Dresden  Porcelain.  —  General  Moreau.  —  The  Envi- 
rons of  Dresden.  —  Style  of  Architecture.  — The  King 
and  Royal  Family.  — Moral  Condition  of  Society.      .     44 

CHAPTER  V. 

Journey  to  Prague. — The  Black  Horse.  —  Objects  of 
Interest  in  Prague.  —  Battle  of  Prague.  —  The  Bridge. 
—  Islands  and  Rifle  Shooting.  —  German  Life.  —  Ger- 


CONTENTS.  XIU 

man  and  American  Theatres,  —  German  Troops.  — 
Austria  Proper  and  its  Army 58 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Journey  to  Vienna.  — The  Archduke  Charles  Hotel.  — 
Imperial"  Library.  —  Public  Rooms.  —  Church  of  St. 
Stephen's.  —  The  Hearts  of  the  Imperial  Family. — 
Palaces.  —  Maria  Theresa.  —  Schoenbrunn.  —  Arsenal 
at  Vienna.  —  Promenades.  —  National  Traits  of  Char- 
acter. —  Music.  —  Strauss.  —  Baden.  —  The  Archduke 
Charles.  — Presburg.  — The  Virtue  of  Primitive  Sim- 
plicity. —  Pesth.  —  The  Hungarians.  —  Scene  at  the 
Jager-Horn.  —  Wagon  Ride  to  Vienna.      .         .         .66 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Identification  of  Austria  and  Vienna.  —  The  Opera.  — 
Cheapness  of  Public  Amusements.  —  Morality  of  Vi- 
enna. —  Lintz.  —  Saltzburg.  — The  Citadel.  —  Salt 
Works  of  Hallein.  —  Descent  into  them.  —  Cretins.  — 
Remarks  on  Saltzburg.  —  Gardens  and  Statues.  —  Mu- 
nich. —  The  Queen  Mother  of  Naples.  — Amusements 
for  her.  —  The  Duchess  de  Berri.  —  Remarks  on  Mu- 
nich. —  Statues  and  Paintings  of  Prince  Eugene  Beau- 
harnois.  —  Canova.  —  Churches.  —  Palaces.  —  The 
Theatre.  — Der  Freischutz.  —  The  English  Garden. .     83 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

Journey  to  Frankfort.  —  Observations  on  the  City.  — 
Visit   to   the    Opera.  —  The    Bridge.  —  Gardens.  — 


XIV  CONTENTS. 

Wiesbaden.  —  Johannisberg.  —  Chateau  of  Prince 
Metternich. — The  Grape  and  Wines.  —  Bingen. — 
Journey  to  Coblentz.  —  Baronial  Castle.  —  Ehren- 
breitstein.  —  Jealousy  of  the  Prussian  Government 
illustrated.  —  Military  Guides  and  Arrangement,  — 
Passage  down  the  Rhine.  —  Account  of  the  Boatman. 

—  Nonnenworth.  —  A  Castle  and  its  Legend,  — 
Drachenfels.  —  Bonn,  —  The  University.  —  Cabinet 
of  Natural  Curiosities.  —  Cologne.  —  The  Cathedral. 

—  Tomb  of  the  Three  Kings  of  Cologne.  —  The 
Crucifixion  of  St.  Peter  by  Rubens.   .         .         .         .97 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Journey  to  Mayence.  —  The  Cathedral.  —  Manheim.  — 
Heidelberg.  —  Castle  built  by  Charlemagne.  —  View 
of  the  City.  —  Viewing  natural  Scenery  at  Sunset.  — 
Companion  from  Holland.  —  Carlsruhe.  —  Baden. — 
The  Castle Prospect  from  it An  English  Lady. 

—  Beauty.  —  Strasburg.  —  The  Cathedral.  —  View 
from  it.  —  German  Character  of  the  City.  —  Remarks 

on  Travelling.  —  Colmar 116 

CHAPTER  X. 

Basle.  —  The  Drei  Konige  von  Coin. — Disappointed 
Travellers.  —  Remarks  on  Basle.  —  Fellow  Travellers 
to  Berne.  —  Stop  of  the  Diligence  at  Midnight.  — Re- 
mark of  Diderot.  —  Scenery  near  Berne. — Promen- 
ade.—Lausanne. —Rousseau. —  His  Conception  of 
Julie. —  Lake  of  Geneva. —  Gibbon. — Description 
and  Account  of  Lausanne 131 


CONTENTS.  XY 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Steamboat  Passage  to  Geneva.  — Jerome  Bonaparte.  — 
Arrival  at  Geneva.  —  Scenery.  —  Excursion  towards 
Mont  Blanc,  —  Scenery  on  the  Way.  —  Vale  of  Cha- 
mouni.  — Ascent  of  Montanvert.  — Mer  de  Glace.  — 
De  Saussure. — Further  Remarks  on  Chamouni. — 
Return  to  Geneva.  —  Remarkable  Grotto.  .         .   147 

CHAPTER  XII. 

Voltaire's  Seat  at  Ferney.  —  His  Death.  —  The  old  Gar- 
dener at  Ferney.  —  Voltaire's  Character  and  Skep- 
ticism.—  His  Intimacy  with  Frederic  the  Great. — 
Coppet.  — Madame  de  Stael.  —  Present  Condition  and 
Resources  of  Geneva,  —  Its  Picturesqueness.  —  Lake 
Leman.  — The  Genevois,  — Present  Condition  of  the 
Swiss  and  Switzerland J61 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

Journey  to  Lyons,  —  Annoying  Police  Examination.  — 
Enlightening  Effect  of  Gold  on  Politics,  —  Lyons  and 
its  Inhabitants.  —  Steamboat  Passage  down  the  Rhone. 

—  Avignon.  —  Excursion  to  Vaucluse. — The  cele- 
brated Fountain.  —  Petrarch  and  his  Laura.  —  A  De- 
jeuner a  la  Fourchette.  — Wines.  —  Temperance.  — 
Nismes, — The  Amphitheatre,  —  The  Maison  Carree. 

—  Aqueduct  of  the  Pont  du  Gard 172 


XVI  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

Marseilles.  — The  Quai.  —  Water  Excursions.  —  Hotel 
de  Ville.  —  Cause  of  the  Neglect  of  the  Fine  Arts.  — 
The  Old  Town. —  The  New  Town. —Theatre. — 
Amusements.  —  Female  Pedlers  in  Cafes. — Manners 
of  the  Inhabitants. —  Charlatanerie.  —  Tir  au  Pisto- 
let.  —  Montagnes  Russes.  —  Toulon.  —  The  Harbour. 

—  The  Montebello  Ship  of  the  Line.  —  Royal  Arsenal. 

—  Character  of  the  Marseillais. — Their  Language 
and  Personal  Appearance.  — The  Women  of  Southern 
France.  —  A  Remark  on  their  peculiar  Traits,  Moral 
and  Physical .         .186 

CHAPTER  XV. 

Montpellier.  —  Promenades.  —  Ancient  Pile.  —  Medi- 
cal School.  —  Young  and  Narcissa.  —  Narcissa's 
Tomb.  —  The  Canal  de  Languedoc. — Travelling  on 
it.  —  Toulouse.  —  Objects  of  Interest.  —  Antiquities. 

—  Places  of  Amusement. — Journey  to  Bordeaux. — 
Description  of  the  City. — Theatre.  —  Corn  Mill. — 
Montaigne.  —  Bordeaux  and  Marseilles  compared. — 
Travelling  by  Malle  Poste.  —  Route  to  Paris.  —  Poic- 
tiers.  —  Tours.  —  Extensive  Quai.  —  The  Loire .  — 
Blois,  —  Orleans.  —  La  Pucelle.  — Arrival  at  Paris.  .  203 

CHAPTER    XVI. 

Paris.  —  Notre  Dame.  —  Churches.  —  The  Pantheon.  — 
Vault   and    Tombs.  —  Tomb  of  Lannes.  -—  Echo.  — 


CONTENTS.  XVii 

View  from  the  Pantheon.  —  Its  Dome  and  Painting  in 
Fresco.  —  Palaces.  —  The  Tuiieries.  —  Garden  of  the 
Tuileries.  —  Splendid  View.  —  Palais  Bourbon.  —  The 
Louvre.  —  Gallery  of  Paintings.  —  Modern  French 
Artists.  —  Remarks  on  Painting.  ....  220 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Description  of  the  Palais  Royal.  —  Its  magnificent  Area 
and  Promenades.  —  Passage  d 'Orleans.  —  Its  splendid 
Appearance  at  Evening.  —  Glance  at  the  principal 
Features  of  the  Palais  Royal.  — Variety  and  Brillian- 
cy of  the  Magasins  and  Cafes.  — The  Cafe  des  Aveu- 
gles.  —  Atmosphere  of  Gayety  about  the  Palais  Royal. 

—  Its  Effect  upon  the  Feelings.  —  Principal  Theatres 
of  Paris.  —  French  Opera  House.  —  Principal  Per- 
formers in  Opera  and  Ballet  —  Interior  Arrangement 
of  the  Salle.  —  Prices  of  Admission.  —  The  Royal  Box. 

—  Saloon  of  the  Opera 232 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

The  Academic  Royale  de  Musique.  —  Leading  Operas 
there  represented.  —  Robert  le  Diable.  —  Excellence 
of  Nourrit  in  that  Character. — Magnificent  Scenic 
Effect.  —  Ballet-Opera  of  La  Tentation.  —  Scene  rep- 
resenting L'Enfer.  —  La  Juive.  —  Les  Huguenots.  — 
Nourrit.  —  Lafont.  —  Levasseur.  —  Madame  Cinti 
Damoreau.  —  Madame  Dorus  Gras.  —  Mademoiselle 
Falcon 241 


Xviii  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

The  Dance.  —  La  Revoke  au  Serail.  —  Taglioni.  —  Du- 
vernay.  —  Fanny  Essler.  —  Augusta.  —  Male  Artistes. 

—  Mazillier.  —  Montjoie.  — Perrot.  —  Italian  Opera. 
— Rubini.  —  La  Somnambula.  — Its  Performance  here 
and  in  Paris.  —  Lablache.  —  La  Prova  d' un  Opera 
Seria.  —  Tamburini.  —  Bellini.  —  Malibran.  —  Ivanhoff. 

—  Giulia  Grisi.  —  Her  Success  in  La  Norma.  —  Other 
Ladies  of  the  Opera.  —  Operas  most  in  Vogue.  — 
Concluding  Remarks  on  the  Opera.  .         .         .251 

CHAPTER  XX. 

The  Theatre  Frangais.  — Ligier.  —  Mademoiselle  Mars. 

—  Madame  Volnys.  —  Casimir  De  la  Vigne.  —  Don 
Juan  d'Autriche.  -  Outline  of  it.  -  Theatre  de  la  Porte 
St.  Martin.  —  Mademoiselle  Georges.  —  The  Gym- 
nase.  —  Theatre   des  Vari6tes.  —  The  Vaudeville. — 

Other  Theatres  in  Paris.  —  The  Wandering  Jew 

The  Opera  Comique. — Le  Pre  aux  Clercs. — The 
Odeon.  —  French  Fondness  for  Theatrical  Exhibitions 
and  Music.  ,         .         .         ,         .  .         .         .  268 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

Parisian  Cafes.  —  Hotels.  —  Manner  of  Living.  —  La 
Vie  en  Garden.  —  Breakfasting  Houses.  —  The  Cafe 
Veron.  —  The  Cafe  d'Orleans. —Remarks  on  Cafes. 

—  Cafe  Tortoni.  —  Its  Ices  and  Liqueurs.  —  The  Cafe 
Anglais.-The  Count.— Portrait  of  an  Eccentric  Gen- 


CONTENTS.  XIX 

tlenian.  —  Breakfasts.  —  The  Cafe  Estaminet.  —  Bil- 
liards. —  Eugine.  —  Glance  at  the  Restaurants.  —  The 
Rocher  de  Cancale.  — Very's  Restaurant.  — The  Vi- 
andes.  —  Details  of  a  Parisian  Dinner.  — The  French 
Volaille.  —  Wines 281 

CHAPTER   XXII. 

Paris  favorable  to  Literary  Men. — The  Royal  Library. 

—  Autographs.  —  Reflections.  —  Literary  Facilities 
for  Strangers.  —  French  Memoires.  —  The  Novel.  ■— 
Victor  Hugo. — Portrait  of  M.  Balzac. — Paul  de 
Kock.  —  His  Novels.  —  The  Difficulty  of  Translating 
them.  —  The  Drama.  —  Casimir  De  la  Vigne.  —  M. 
Scribe.  —  The  Vaudeville.  —  Concerts  of  Instrumental 
Music  in  the  Open  Air.  —  Remarks  on  them.  —  Fond- 
ness of  the  French  for  Pleasure.  —  Concerts  at  the 
Champs  Elysees  d'Hiver. — Musard's  Concerts.         .  298 

CHAPTER  XXIII. 

The  Carnival.  —  The  Masked  Ball. —  Crowds  on  the 
Boulevards.  —  Foreign  Prejudices  respecting  the 
French.  —  Their  personal  Appearance.  —  Dress.  — 
The  Parisian  Elegant. — The  Bourgeois. — National 
Guard.  —  Troops  of  the  Line.  — The  Parisian  Char- 
acter. —  Love  of  Glory  and  Pleasure.  —  Sense  of 
Honor.  —  Selfishness.  —  The  Female  Sex.  —  Their 
Due.  — Their  Personal  Appearance.  —  American  and 
European  Beauty.  —  American  Beauty  in  Paris. — 
Moral  Atmosphere  of  Paris.  —  Remark  from  Bulwer. 

—  Girlhood  in  the  Higher  Classes  of  Society.  —  Mar- 


XX  CONTENTS. 

riages.  — Married  Life.  —  Morality  of  the  Lower  Or- 
ders. —  Wretchedness  and  Crime  in  European  Cities. 

—  Ignorance.  —  Divorces.  —  Genius  of  the  French 
Language  respecting  Love.  —  Bad  Tendency  of  the 
Catholic  Religion.  —  Reflections  on  Protestant  Amer- 
ica   .         .  310 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

Various  Objects  of  Interest.  —  St.  Cloud.  —  Les  deux 
Trianons.  —  Swiss  Cottages.  —  Montmorency.  —  De- 
parture from  Paris.  —  Havre.  — Passage  in  the  Apollo. 

—  Arrival  at  Portsmouth. — Police  Examination. — 
Visit  to  the  Packet  Office.  —  The  Victory  and  Lord 
Nelson.  —  Journey  to  London. — The  Ascot  Races. 

—  Visits  to  the  Zoological  Gardens  and  other  Places 
of  Interest.  —  The  Duke  of  Wellington.  —  Theatres 
and  Actors.  — Acting  of  Madame  Malibran  in  the  Maid 
of  Artois.  —  Concert  for  her  Husband's  Benefit. — 
Her  Success  at  the  Concert. — Anecdote  in  Con- 
nexion with  this  Celebrated  Singer.  —  Her  Personal 
Appearance.  —  English  Hospitality.  —  The  Well-bred 
Englishman  described.  —  His  National  Fiertc.  — 
Remarks  on  his  Reserve. — English  Travellers. — 
Departure  from  England.  —  Reflections  on  England 
and  America.       ........  326 

CHAPTER  XXV. 

Reflections  on  the  Effects  and  Advantages  of  foreign 
Travel. 341 

Index 349 


DESULTORY  REMINISCENCES. 


CHAPTER   I. 

Voyage.  —  Havre  de  Grace.  —  Rouen.  —  Arrival  at  Paris.  —  Palais 
Royal.  —  Tlieatres.  —  Italian  Opera.  —  Julia  Grisi.  —  The  Parisian's 
Attachment  to  his  City.  —  Promenades.  —  Courtesy  to  Strangers. — 
Description  of  the  City.  —  Its  Antiquities.  —  Art.  —  Parisian  Man- 
ners and  Character.  —  Schedule  of  a  Day.  —  Gambling  Houses. — 
Small  Fortunes. 

In  the  month  of  May,  183-,  we  set  sail  from 
New  York,  in  the  good  ship  Nonnandie,  for  a  Eu- 
ropean port,  and  arrived  at  our  phice  of  destination 
after  a  passage  of  twenty-eight  days.  Respecting 
life  on  board  ship,  so  much  has  already  been  said  and 
written,  that  it  would  be  needless  here  to  enlarge 
upon  it,  were  not  even  the  monotony  of  ship-board 
existence  sufficient  of  itself  to  preclude  the  neces- 
sity of  any  other  words  than  such  as  may  serve 
to  specify  the  day  of  embarkation  and  of  landing. 
For  the  rest,  our  passengers  and  passage  were 
agreeable. 

It  seems  to  me,  I  never  can  forget  the  delight 
w^ith  which  I  once  more  contemplated  land,  and 
the  wild  fever  of  excitement,  which  sent  the  danc- 
ing blood  throughout  my  veins,  as  our  wide-spread 
sails  wooed  the  favoring  breeze ;  while,  full  in 
1 


2  HAVRE  DE  GRACE.  — ROUEN. 

sight  before  us,  lay  the  welcome  haven.  Havre 
de  Grace  is  certainly  not  in  itself  a  place  of  great 
beauty  or  interest.  Its  locale  is  sufficiently  good, 
with  some  fine,  commanding  situations ;  but  the 
town  seems  interesting  to  me,  and  doubtless  to 
most  of  my  travelling  countrymen  ;  for  it  is  usually 
the  spot  which  the  American,  visiting  the  continent 
of  Europe,  first  sets  foot  upon  after  quitting  his 
natal  soil,  and  the  last  to  which  he  bids  adieu. 

After  passing  a  day  or  two  in  this  city,  I  took 
passage  in  one  of  the  steamboats  for  Rouen.  The 
excursion  is  delightful,  and  the  scene  truly  pano- 
ramic ;  the  Seine  meanders  through  a  beautiful 
and  highly  cultivated  sweep  of  country,  and  the 
succession  of  hamlets  and  villages  on  its  banks, 
with  the  picturesque  views  which  ever  and  anon 
meet  the  eye  of  the  traveller,  tend  to  tinge  his 
first  impressions  of  la  belle  France  with  the  true 
coideur  de  rose. 

Upon  arriving  at  Rouen,  we  were  beset  by 
a  most  determined  troop  of  commissionaires,  who 
commenced  such  a  brisk  attack  upon  us  in  favor 
of  their  several  establishments,  that  it  was  really 
no  easy  matter  to  get  rid  of  them.  There  are 
good  hotels  in  this  city  ;  that  which  we  selected, 
the  Hotel  d'Angleterrc,  is  considered  as  possessing 
one  of  the  best  tables  cVhote  in  the  kingdom. 
Rouen  has  the  most  ancient  appearance  of  any 
town  I  have;  visited  in  France.  Among  its  edifices, 
the  Catlicdral  is  a  prominent  object  of  curiosity 
and  interest ;  and  the  bassi  rilievi,  that  now  orna- 
ment its  walls,  and  which  were  not  long  since,  at 


ARRIVAL  AT  PARIS.  3 

the  suggestion  of  an  English  antiquary,  cleared 
of  the  cobwebs  that  for  centuries  concealed  them, 
are  interesting,  both  from  their  great  antiquity  and 
excellent  workmanship.  The  towers  of  the  Ca- 
thedral are  lofty,  and  from  their  heights  is  enjoyed 
a  splendid  view  of  the  city  and  adjacent  country. 
From  this  elevated  point,  the  eye  may  follow  the 
meandering  Seine,  until,  dwindling  to  a  silvery 
thread,  his  waters  are  lost  in  the  blue  horizon. 
The  streets  of  Rouen  are  narrow  and  inelegant, 
and  the  general  appearance  of  the  town  gloomy 
and  sombre.  The  place  has,  however,  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  opulent,  and,  w  hat  may  be  considered 
a  good  criterion  of  this  in  France,  it  is  provided 
with  an  excellent  theatre,  where  I  heard  the  fa- 
vorite music  of  Le  Philtre  particularly  vt^ell  exe- 
cuted. 

The  distance  from  Rouen  to  the  capital  is  ninety 
miles,  which  are  generally  passed  over  by  the  dili- 
gence in  something  less  than  twelve  hours,  an 
unusual  speed  in  continental  travelling.  I  felt  a 
flutter  of  the  heart,  as,  by  numerous  indications, 
I  became  aware  that  the  great  city  was  near, 
and  my  eyes  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  stupendous 
triumphal  arch,  that  enduring  memorial  of  the 
glory  of  Napoleon,  and  the  valor  of  his  "  grandc 
armee."  No  people  can  be  more  ready  than  the 
French  to  consummate  the  sacrifice,  whether  it 
be  of  blood  or  treasure,  when,  by  the  flowing  of 
the  one,  the  deed  can  be  achieved,  or,  by  the  ex- 
penditure of  the  other,  its  remembrance  be  trans- 
mitted to  posterity. 


4  PARIS. 

At  length  I  find  myself  comfortably  situated 
in  this  far-famed  capital,  the  theatre  of  so  many 
grand  events,  the  heart  whose  wild  pulsations 
have  so  oft  been  felt  in  every  part  of  continental 
Europe. 

I  took  lodgings  at  the  Hotel  des  Princes,  in  the 
Rue  Richelieu,  a  well-known  and  excellent  estab- 
lishment. After  allotting  a  brief  period  to  rest 
and  refreshment,  I  left  the  hotel,  in  company  with 
one  of  my  travelling  friends,  to  catch  a  coup  (Pml 
of  the  city.  The  afternoon  was  just  fading  into 
eve  ;  the  hundreds  of  gas  lamps,  which  illuminate 
the  streets  and  passages,  were  casting  their  glare 
around,  as  we  bent  our  steps  towards  the  Palais 
Royal. 

The  scene  which  there  broke  upon  me  seemed, 
at  first  glance,  one  of  enchantment ;  the  beauti- 
fully garnished  windows,  blazing  with  jewelry  and 
gold ;  the  numerous  mirrors,  which  reflect  your 
person  at  each  step  ;  the  gay  groups  of  promenaders 
on  every  side ;  with  the  murmuring  fountains,  and 
the  statuary,  which  embellish  the  area,  —  all  these, 
conjoined  with  the  peculiar  character  of  the  peo- 
ple who  nightly  throng  its  stately  colonnades  and 
passages,  render  the  Palais  Royal  a  thing  unique 
in  the  European  world. 

Paris  seems  hardly  to  awake  before  the  day  be 
well  advanced.  At  three  or  four  o'clock  of  a  fine 
afternoon,  the  noble  promenade  along  the  Boule- 
vards and  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  to  the  gardens  of 
the  Tuileries,  is  crowded  with  the  fashionable  of 
all   nations  ;    and   this  continues  in  ceaseless  flow 


ITALIAN  SINGERS   AND  MUSIC.  5 

until  the  hour  of  dinner,  after  which  important 
ceremony  the  theatres  supervene,  and  thus  the 
evening  wears  away.  Of  these  last,  there  are 
nearly  thirty,  which  nightly  throw  open  their  doors 
to  the  Parisian  populace ;  and  they  all  appear  to  be 
well  patronized.  Those  most  frequented  by  the 
heau  monde  are  the  two  operas,  the  Italian,  and 
French,  known  as  L^Academie  Roy  ale  de  Musique. 
This  last  is  the  pride  of  the  Parisians,  and  may  be 
pronounced  unrivalled.  It  is  not  the  most  spacious 
theatre  in  Europe,  being  inferior  in  size  to  the 
King's  Theatre  in  London,  and  the  San  Carlo  in 
Naples ;  but,  from  the  munificence  of  the  govern- 
ment, and  the  great  patronage  bestowed  upon  it 
by  the  public,  it  has  been  able,  whether  in  Opera 
or  Ballet,  to  command  the  most  eminent  talent, 
and  to  bring  forward  its  pieces  in  a  style  of  ele- 
gance not  to  be  equalled  on  any  other  stage. 

The  Italian  company  comprises,  with  but  few 
exceptions,  the  most  celebrated  singers  that  nation 
can  boast  of;  Lablache,  Rubini,  Tamburini,  and 
the  prima  donna  Julia  Grisi,  whom  the  lamented 
death  of  the  Queen  of  Song,  the  peerless  Malibran, 
may  leave  at  the  head  of  her  profession.  The 
personal  advantages  of  this  lady  are  of  a  high  order. 
She  possesses  the  liquid,  dark  eyes  and  raven  tresses 
of  her  own  sunny  clime  ;  add  to  this,  a  countenance 
endowed  with  a  rare  capability  of  expressing  all  the 
emotions  of  the  soul,  and  a  happy  adaptation  of 
physical  power,  which  carries  her  with  a  sustained 
energy  through  the  most  difficult  and  trying  scenes. 
This    is    most  conspicuous  in   her  performance  of 


6  PARIS. 

Anna  Bolena,  a  piece  of  acting,  which,  perhaps, 
no  one  who  has  witnessed  can  ever  forget. 

The  peculiar  attraction  of  the  French  capital 
springs  undoubtedly  from  the  fact,  that  whatever 
there  is  of  celebrity,  in  the  sciences  and  the  fine 
arts,  seems,  as  it  were  by  a  natural  process,  to 
tend  towards  it,  and  flourish  under  its  protection 
and  patronage.  The  music  of  Italy  is  nowhere 
better  given  than  in  the  capital  of  France.  Na- 
ples, Rome,  Florence  can  boast  no  such  opera. 
Although  it  be  true,  that  the  same  artists  alternate 
between  Paris  and  London,  yet,  in  the  latter  city, 
the  chilling  and  apathetic  air,  which  the  aris- 
tocracy pride  themselves  upon  assuming,  fails  not 
to  assert  its  influence  even  upon  these  children  of 
song. 

The  contrast  between  the  Italian  and  English 
singers,  and  indeed  those  of  many  other  European 
nations,  is  very  striking.  An  English  singer  or  actor 
seems  never  to  lose  sight  of  his  own  identity ; 
but  the  Italian,  yielding  to  the  warmth  and  enthu- 
siasm of  his  temperament,  not  unfrequently  causes 
his  auditor  to  fancy  that  reality,  which  is  so  de- 
picted to  the  life. 

In  listening  to  Grisi,  as  she  gives  the  beautiful 
and  plaintive  music  of  La  Norma,  it  is  easy  to 
conceive  her  the  prophetess  she  personates.  There 
seems  an  inspiration  in  that  full,  dark  eye,  and 
countenance  lit  up  with  daring  enthusiasm.  An 
utter  abandonment  of  herself,  her  powers  and  en- 
ergies, to  the  work  in  which  she  is  engaged,  serves 
to  fill  out  that  illusion,  with  us  so  rarely  complete. 


PROMENADES.  7 

It  is  indeed  not  to  be  wondered  at,  then,  that  the 
Parisian  is  extravagantly  attached  to  his  operas, 
and  proud  of  the  perfection  to  which  they  are 
brought.  At  the  Academic  Royale,  in  addition  to 
the  opera,  you  are  regaled  with  a  ballet  far  sur- 
passing aught  else,  of  a  similar  nature,  in  Europe. 
There,  night  after  night,  Taglioni  and  Fanny  Essler 
divide  the  encomiums  and  plaudits  of  the  dilet- 
tanti, and  certainly,  to  the  volatile  Frenchman,  are 
sovereign  specifics  for  the  ills  and  anxieties  of  the 
day. 

The  Parisian  finds  every  thing  provincial  out  of 
Paris.  Out  of  sight  of  the  Boulevards  and  the 
Tuileries,  he  feels  restless  and  unhappy  ;  thus  veri- 
fying, in  his  own  person,  the  old  French  adage, 
"  At  Paris  one  lives,  but  vegetates  elsewhere." 
He  will  allow  you  a  fine  country  or  a  helle  vue, 
but,  as  for  a  city,  Paris  is  his  beau  ideal ;  when 
you  have  seen  that,  there  is  nothing  further  to 
admire.  Of  a  beautiful  day,  indeed,  scarce  any 
thing  can  be  finer  than  the  public  promenades, 
overflowing  as  they  are  with  a  gay,  well-dressed 
population.  The  garden  of  the  Tuileries,  with  its 
antique  Chateau,  calling  back  to  the  mind  the  times 
of  Cathei-ine  de  Medicis,  its  numerous  statues  and 
fountains,  and  spreading  trees,  the  true  nis  in  urbe, 
certainly  struck  me,  the  first  time  it  met  my  eye,  as 
an  almost  fairy  scene.  The  beautiful,  lengthened 
avenues,  too,  of  the  Jardin  des  Plantes,  with  its 
unrivalled  Museum,  ever  open  to  gratify  the  public 
curiosity,  go  far  to  convince  the  stranger,  that  he  is 
in  a  land  where  sound  discrimination,  as  it  regards 


8  PARIS. 

the  places  of  public  amusement  and  instruction,  is 
joined  to  a  liberal  and  enlightened  policy.  I  would 
mention  en  passant,  that  in  Paris,  and  throughout 
France,  the  name  of  stranger  is  a  general  passport 
for  admittance  to  places  or  spectacles  from  whence 
the  inhabitants  themselves  are  excluded.  I  recol- 
lect, upon  one  occasion,  when  the  funeral  obsequies 
of  the  famous  composer,  Boieldieu,  were  celebrat- 
ine:  at  the  Hotel  des  Invalides,  no  one  was  to  be 
admitted,  who  held  not  a  paper  of  invitation ;  but, 
as  the  ceremonies  were  curious  and  unusual,  there 
was  a  large  crowd  collected  about  the  gate  of  this 
imposing  edifice.  I  was  fortunate  enouo:h  at  length 
to  attract  the  notice  of  one  in  authority,  who  de- 
manded of  me,  si  fetais  etranger  ?  and,  upon  my 
answering  in  the  affirmative,  gave  instant  orders  for 
my  admittance.  I  mention  this,  merely  as  a  single 
instance  of  the  urbanity  of  a  nation,  which  is  in- 
deed proverbial  for  its  politeness  throughout  the 
world. 

Paris,  taken  as  a  whole,  cannot  be  strictly  termed 
a  handsome  city.  The  narrowness  of  the  streets, 
the  want  of  sidewalks,  the  dark  and  sombre  hue 
of  the  towering  edifices,  together  with  an  absence 
of  cleanliness,  must  ever  prevent  its  laying  claim 
to  beauty.  Still  there  are  points  de  vue,  which 
are  really  splendid.  You  enjoy  the  finest  of  these 
as  you  emerge  from  the  Tuileries,  and  find  your- 
self standing  upon  the  spot  where  suffered  the 
royal  victim  of  revolutionary  France.  Here  the 
view  embraces  the  royal  palace  and  gardens,  the 
classic  church  of  La  Madeleine,  that  most  perfect 


ANTIQUITIES.  9 

edifice  of  modern  times.  On  another  side  is  seen 
the  Palais  de  Bourbon,^  and  the  Seine,  with  the 
magnificent  bridge,  which  at  that  point  crosses  it. 
And  there,  too,  you  have  the  lengthened  vista  of  the 
Champs  Elysees,  at  the  termination  of  which,  far 
in  the  distance,  is  seen,  beyond  comparison,  the 
most  magnificent  arch  of  ancient  or  modern  ages, 
the  Arc  Triomphale  of  Napoleon.  No  one  who 
has  passed  any  length  of  time  in  Paris,  and  is 
familiar  with  its  public  monuments,  can  wonder 
at  the  enthusiasm  of  its  inhabitants  for  their  great 
Emperor, — the  man  who  conceived,  and,  but  for  the 
discord  of  warring  elements  would  have  executed, 
the  grand  design  of  rendering  his  adopted  city  the 
metropolis  of  Europe,  —  the  man  who  has  left 
behind  him  a  record  of  his  victories,  written  with 
steel  upon  imperishable  bronze,  —  the  man  who, 
while  stands  the  stately  column  or  majestic  arch, 
must  ever  live  in  the  hearts  of  the  nation  he  led 
on  to  glory. 

Paris,  as  I  before  said,  is  not  what  we  of  the 
present  day  would  call  strictly  a  handsome  city  ; 
but  how  rich  is  it  in  monuments  of  antiquity,  —  the 
precious  relics  of  dim  and  distant  ages.  If  we 
except  the  Eternal  City,  with  its  colossal,  time- 
hallowed  remains,  none  other  can  vie  with  it  in 
this  respect.  Those  ancient  temples,  reposing,  as 
they  have  done  for  centuries,  in  the  solemn  and 
immovable  grandeur,  which  marks  the  Gothic  ar- 
chitecture of  the  Middle  Ages,  looking  down,  with 


*  Now  Chamber  of  Deputies. 

2 


10  PARIS. 

a  frowning  majesty,  upon  the  puny  masonry  of 
modern  times,  how  absorbing  are  they  in  their  in- 
terest to  the  classical  traveller,  from,  perchance,  a 
far  distant  clime,  who,  his  pilgrimage  done,  gazes 
at  length,  with  feelings  akin  to  reverence,  on  those 
cons^lrated  piles. 

Paris  is,  to  a  greater  extent,  a  city  of  the  past 
and  the  present,  uniting  the  graces  of  ancient  and 
modern  architecture,  than  any  other  in  the  world. 
Here,  while  in  the  contemplation  of  the  chefs-d^CEUvre 
of  the  thirteenth  and  fourteenth  centuries,  you  are 
separated  but  by  a  few  minutes'  walk  from  all 
the  eighteenth  and  nineteenth  have  to  boast  of  in 
elegance  and  symmetry.  Here,  according  to  your 
humor,  may  you  gratify  each  taste.  You  may  live 
secluded,  and  philosophize  over  the  vanity  of  all 
things  human,  surrounded  by  images  of  past  gran- 
deur in  the  Fauxbourg  St.  Germain,  or  you  may 
turn  dandy  and  "  strut  your  little  hour,"  caned  and 
gloved,  amid  the  walking  gentlemen  of  the  Rue 
de  la  Paix  and  the  Tuileries.  Are  you  an  artist  ? 
the  galleries  of  the  metropolis  are  ever  open  to 
you.  Are  you  a  scholar  ?  the  numerous  libraries 
and  reading-rooms  afford  the  fittest  opportunity  for 
scientific  and  literary  research.  In  fine,  whatever 
your  taste,  it  must  needs  be  a  whimsical  one,  if 
Paris  contain  not  much  to  gratify  it.  Having  said 
thus  much  of  the  city,  I  shall  proceed  to  advert 
briully  to  the  manners  and  character  of  the  people. 
The  Parisian  passes,  almost  proverbially,  for  all 
that  is  volatile  ;  he  has  the  character  of  reflecting 
seriously  upon  nothing  unconnected  with  his  busi- 
ness of  amusement  and  pleasure. 


MANNERS  AND  CHARACTER  OF  THE  PEOPLE.         1 1 

These  conclusions  are,  no  doubt,  in  many  cases 
hastily  drawn,  and  often,  by  a  traveller's  license, 
not  a  little  exaggerated.  A  person  passing  a  week 
or  fortnight  in  Paris,  having  only  time  to  cast  a 
superficial  glance  uj)on  the  busy  little  worldabout 
him,  and  conversant  consequently  but  ^^^^e 
floating  population  of  idlers,  who  swarm  in  the 
streets,  and  fill  the  cafes,  restaurants,  and  theatres, 
would  very  naturally  be  led  to  attribute  that  char- 
acter to  the  entire  population.  Yet,  while  I  be- 
lieve these  sketches  of  character  are  often  highly 
and  falsely  colored  by  the  pens  of  superficial  ob- 
servers, I  pretend  not  to  deny,  that  there  is  in  the 
ensemble  of  the  Parisian  a  degree  of  the  careless 
and  volatile,  an  insouciance,  which  distinguishes 
him  from  his  insular  neighbours  across  the  Chan- 
nel, and  in  general  from  the  other  inhabitants  of 
Europe. 

This  distinction,  I  think,  may  be  attributed 
to  other  reasons  than  those  often  alleged,  such 
as  climate,  &c.  Take,  for  example,  an  inhabi- 
tant of  London  and  Paris,  of  equally  good  stand- 
ing. The  Englishman,  in  most  cases,  acts  and  feels 
as  though  every  political  movement  had  a  direct 
bearing  upon  himself;  he  incorporates  himself  with 
the  nation,  and  is  as  keenly  sensitive  in  any  thing 
which  touches  that,  as  though  it  were  directed 
solely  and  entirely  against  himself;  his  habits  be- 
ing tinged  with  imaginings  of  this  nature,  he  be- 
comes either  unduly  impressed  with  an  idea  of  his 
own  importance,  or  too  entirely  engrossed  with 
affairs  of  the  nation ;    whence  result,  as  the  case 


12  PARIS. 

may  chance,  feelings  of  care  and  anxiety,  or  senti- 
ments of  hauteur;  both  of  which,  though  under  a 
different  process  of  action,  produce  the  similar  ef- 
fect of  rendering  him  distant  and  reserved  in  his 
demeanour ;  thus  forming  a  character,  that  for- 
eigners have  generally  united  in  representing  as 
phlegmatic  and  inhospitable.  The  Frenchman,  on 
the  contrary,  troubles  himself  but  little  on  the 
score  of  politics,  and  even  submits  with  good  grace 
to  evils  he  cannot  avoid  ;  although,  when  fitting 
opportunity  presents,  he  has  ever  shown  himself 
willing  and  able  to  throw  off  the  yoke.  Actually 
less  free  than  the  Englishman,  he  is  nevertheless 
happier,  in  his  very  immunity  from  those  cares  and 
anxieties,  which  fall  to  their  lot  who  rule  them- 
selves. He  is,  in  fact,  a  being  who  lives  in  and 
for  the  present  alone.  Is  the  appearance  of  things 
now  of  a  satisfactory  or  promising  aspect  ?  he  is 
content,  and  seeks  not  to  meet  trouble  half  way 
by  peering  into  the  gloom  of  futurity.  He  is,  in 
truth,  the  wiser  philosopher  of  the  two,  though  a 
laughing  one  ;  and  his  creed  must  be  the  better 
one,  inasmuch  as  it  is  the  happier.  Without  pos- 
sessing more  kindliness  of  heart  or  as  much  sinceri- 
ty as  the  Englishman,  he  contrives,  by  the  greater 
courteousness  of  his  manner,  and  his  more  winning 
volubility  of  tongue,  to  make  himself  the  pleas- 
anter  companion,  and  imposes  his  tinsel  upon  you 
with  an  affectation  of  feeling  and  a  seeming  friend- 
ly earnestness  of  protestation,  which  throw  into 
the  shade  the  bullion  of  his  more  taciturn  neigh- 
bour. 


HISTORY  OF  A  DAY.  13 

Respecting  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  Pa- 
risians so  much  has  been  said  and  written,  that  it 
were  superfluous  here  to  detail  them.  As  I  before 
remarked,  a  stranger  would  suppose  their  lives  were 
entirely  dedicated  to  pleasure.  A  constant  round 
of  amusements  seems  to  occupy  or  rather  kill  the 
time.  Gastronomy  is  held  to  be  a  science  of  no 
mean  importance,  and  its  most  eminent  professors 
are  looked  upon  as  men  of  genius.  The  morning 
in  Paris  is  scarce  worth  the  considering ;  there 
are  first  the  preliminaries  of  dress  to  be  duly  at- 
tended to ;  after  that  comes  the  dejeuner  simple 
or  a  la  fourchette.  Of  a  fine  day,  you  have  the 
walk  along  the  Italiens^  or  in  the  gardens,  or,  what 
is  better,  the  promenade  a  cheval  in  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne.  These  over,  if  there  is  still  an  hour  or 
two  on  your  hands,  repair  as  a  last  resort  to 
Coulon's,  and  practise  your  carte  and  tierce,  and 
your  U7i,  deux,  trois,  with  that  scientific  maitre 
d^artnes.  Thus  the  time,  with  the  aid  of  Galignani 
or  Paul  de  Kock,  flows  on  until  six  o'clock ;  then 
comes  the  time  for  action.  The  giant  city  is  in 
motion.  With  the  epicurean  {ew,  you  resort  to 
the  saloons  of  the  Cafe  de  Paris,  or  to  Very's.  An 
hour  or  two  passes  in  discussing  the  delicate  entrees 
of  either  renowned  restaurant.  After  that  there  is 
the  opera,  there  is  the  play,  to  speed  Time  on  his 
course.  Now  is  it,  that  Paris  developes  her  thou- 
sand resources,  veiled  ever  from  the  gairish  light 
of  day.     The  winged  hours  fly  rapidly  on  until  it 


*  The  Boulevards  of  that  name,  the  most  fashionable  in  Paris. 


14  PARIS. 

sounds  two.  At  that  moment  (except  during  the 
gay  season  of  the  Carnival)  terminates  the  day  at 
Paris.  Such  is  the  brief  schedule  of  a  single  day ; 
another  dawns  and  passes  away,  the  reflected  im- 
age of  its  predecessor.  Mrs.  Jamieson,  in  her 
"  Sketches,"  has  said  of  this  gay  capital,  that  it  is 
the  place  of  all  others  "  ou  I'on  pent  le  mieux  se 
passer  du  bonheur,"  and  the  remark  is  a  just  one  ; 
for,  amid  its  whirl  of  fashionable  follies,  and  its  gay 
multitudes  that  environ  you,  personal  identity  is  al- 
most lost  sight  of,  and,  as  it  were  unconsciously,  you 
participate  in  the  feelings  which  animate  the  mass. 
But  let  it  not  be  imagined,  that  all  here  is  gay- 
ety,  though  amusement  would  appear  to  be  the 
chief  aim.  The  keen  eye  and  clear  judgment  will 
perceive,  beneath  the  serene  and  sunny  surface, 
those  terrible  and  eddying  currents,  which  so  often 
engulf  and  prove  fatal  to  the  unwary.  The  pas- 
sion for  gambling  is  indulged  to  an  alarming  extent ; 
it  is  not  here  a  thing  of  nooks  and  corners,  but 
assembles  its  votaries  in  gay  saloons,  in  the  most 
fashionable  portions  of  the  city.  Liveried  waiters 
are  ever  in  attendance,  to  usher  in  the  visiter ; 
refreshment  is  furnished  gratuitously.  To  the  es- 
tablishment is  annexed  a  reading-room,  where  the 
more  philosophic  can  retire,  while  the  other  apart- 
ments are  filled  with  well-dressed  people,  many 
intent  on  the  immediate  business  of  the  place, 
others  promenading  through  the  rooms,  surveying 
themselves  in  the  splendid  mirrors,  or  lounging  on 
the  crimson  sofas,  absorbed,  perhaps,  in  their  own 
reveries,  or,  what  is  more  agreeable,  in  the  soft 


GAMBLING  HOUSES.  15 

whispers  of  the  tete-a-tete.  The  ladies  (for  naught 
that  can  allure  is  here  overlooked)  are  clad  in  fash- 
ionable attire,  and  certainly  in  gambling  bear  away 
the  palm  from  our  sex ;  for,  not  only  do  they  stake 
their  own  money  to  the  last  sous,  but,  when  all  is 
gone,  they  not  unfrequently  intimate  to  you,  that 
the  loan  of  a  napoleon  or  two  would  be  very  ac- 
ceptable, but,  being  blessed  with  somewhat  treach- 
erous memories,  invariably  forget  to  return  it.  Vast 
indeed  must  be  the  sums  wrung  from  the  infat- 
uated habitues  of  this  iniquitous  resort,  to  enable 
its  proprietor  to  support  the  expensive  and  almost 
princely  style,  that  reigns  throughout  the  estab- 
lishment. Notwithstanding  the  glittering  piles  of 
gold,  and  the  billets  de  banqiie,  that  nightly  pass 
from  the  victims  into  the  receptacles  of  the  crou- 
pier, the  looker-on  will  discover  but  few  marks  of 
the  outward  and  more  palpable  semblance  of  woe. 
Occasionally,  to  be  sure,  you  do  observe  the  clench- 
ed hand  smiting  convulsively  on  the  brow,  or  you 
mark  an  expression  not  to  be  misinterpreted,  dark 
as  the  thunder-cloud,  that  fosters  in  its  bosom  the 
seed  of  the  ravaging  tempest,  an  expression,  which 
paints  more  vividly  than  language,  the  bosom's 
agony  and  despair.  But  the  passions  are  tolerably 
schooled  in  this  hot-bed  of  gaming ;  it  is  more 
decorous  to  suffer,  than  to  show  that  suffering ; 
and  that  young  man,  who  has  but  just  staked  and 
lost  his  all,  and  is  now  leaving  the  room  with  an 
affected  nonchalance,  which  his  pallid  features  give 
the  lie  to,  you  may  see  to-morrow,  perchance,  a 
tenant  of  the  Morgue. 


IS  PARIS. 

Avarice  seems  not  to  be  a  national  vice  ;  but,  in 
order  to  live  in  Paris  a  man  must  have  money,  and 
gambling  suggests  itself  as  an  apparently  easy 
method  of  obtaining  it.  Many  of  its  infatuated 
votaries  have  their  systems  of  playing,  which  they 
deem  infallible,  but  infallible  are  they  only  in  never 
leading  to  success. 

In  general  among  the  French,  fortunes  are  but 
small.  As  a  people,  they  are  easily  contented,  and 
certainly  understand,  better  than  any  other,  the 
art  of  living  well  and  genteelly  upon  small  incomes; 
there  is  not  the  rage  for  amassing,  that  prevails 
in  some  countries.  Satisfied  with  his  seven  or 
eight  thousand  francs  per  annum,  the  young  French- 
man enjoys  those  pleasures  which  come  within  his 
reach,  without  feeling  a  feverish  desire  for  more. 
I  shall  not  at  present  enlarge  upon  this  subject, 
leaving  the  other  observations  I  have  to  make  upon 
the  leading  traits  of  French  character  to  be  men- 
tioned hereafter,  as  the  nature  of  the  subject  may 
direct.  I  now  prepare  to  leave  the  gilded  city, 
where  so  many  days  have  glided  smoothly,  if  not 
ha|)pily,  by  me,  leaving  impressed  upon  the  mind's 
tabhn  scarce  a  trace  of  their  airy  progress.  But  I 
have  lingered  long  enough  ;  inaction  is  become  a 
labor ;  and  the  restless  mind,  clogged  with  sweets, 
seeks  refuge  in  any  change. 


CHAPTER   II. 

London.  —  St.  Paul's  Chiircli.  —  Tlieatres.  —  King's  Theatre.  —  Its 
aristocratic  Cliaracter.  —  Passage  down  the  Thames.  —  Voyage  to 
Rotterdam.  —  Sensations  of  Foreigners.  —  Appearance  of  the  Coun- 
try.—  Ride  to  Amsterdam.  —  Reflections  on  Travelling. —  House 
occupied  by  Peter  the  Great.  —  Description  of  the  City.  —  Amuse- 
ments. —  Character  of  the  Inhabitants.  —  Dutch  Paintings  and 
Painters.  —  Excursion  to  Saardam  and  Broeck. 

Once  more  I  am  on  the  road  to  seek,  from  vary- 
ing climes  and  changing  scenes,  and  in  the  glowing 
excitement  of  travel,  that  peace  of  mind,  which 
rest  and  quietude  have  failed  to  procure.  Adieu 
to  Paris.  The  Barriers  are  past,  and  I  find  myself 
rolling  rapidly  along  in  the  Malle-Poste  for  Calais, 
a  distance  of  one  hundred  and  sixty  miles.  I  ar- 
rived in  the  evening  and  passed  the  night  there. 
The  next  morning  I  crossed  the  Channel  to  Dover, 
the  sea  as  serene  as  a  summer's  lake.  Six  o'clock 
found  me  again  in  a  coach  for  the  Great  Metrop- 
olis, and  at  early  dawn  I  alighted  at  Morley's  Ho- 
tel, Trafalgar  Square,  London.  So  much  has  been 
said  of  this  Queen  of  Cities,  that  it  were  now  need- 
less for  any  traveller  to  particularize  ;  but  the  first 
view  of  this  miniature  world,  this  wilderness  of 
walls,  must  leave  an  indelible  impression  upon 
every  mind,  which  is  capable  of  receiving  impres- 
sions at  all.  I  went  the  usual  round,  at  one  time 
visiting  the  venerable  Abbey  of  Westminster,  with 
its  time-hallowed  relics,  or  at  another  contemplat- 
3 


18  LONDON. 

ing,  as  it  stands  in  massive  strength,  the  Tower, 
fit  memorial  of  the  dark  and  troublous  times,  in 
which  it  played  so  conspicuous  a  part.  And  now 
let  us  turn  to  St.  Paul's  Church.  This  magnificent 
edifice  stands  alone  ;  it  occupies  a  square  by  itself, 
and  therein  has  much  the  advantage  over  St.  Pe- 
ter's at  Rome ;  but  this  is  its  only  superiority. 
A  comparison  between  the  interior  of  the  two 
churches  is  unnecessary.  There  is  one  custom  here, 
which  is  found  in  no  other  part  of  Europe,  that 
of  demanding  a  certain  sum  (small,  indeed)  to  be 
paid  on  entering,  and  again  another  for  viewing 
the  vaults,  the  whispering  gallery,  and  other  parts 
of  the  building.  Thus  you  ascend,  paying  your 
way  from  the  door  to  the  Ball,  if,  peradventure,  you 
are  enterprising  enough  to  attain  that  eminence. 

The  theatres  are  worthy  of  notice ;  that  in 
Drury  Lane  is  a  very  handsome  one,  and  the 
largest  theatre  (not  including  opera  houses)  in 
Europe.  Covent  Garden  Theatre  is  also  a  hand- 
some house,  and  but  little  inferior  in  size  to  its 
rival.  The  acting  at  both  these  theatres  was  rather 
mediocre.  The  King's  Theatre,  or  Italian  Opera, 
is  the  rendezvous  of  all  the  aristocracy  and  fashion 
of  the  capital.  Much  formality  is  here  observed. 
No  one  is  permitted  to  enter  the  precincts  even 
of  the  pit,  without  the  passport  of  a  dress  coat. 
But  what  a  pit !  Let  not  the  reader  imagine  here 
is  to  be  found  the  motley  assemblage,  coated  or 
uncoated,  as  the  weather  or  their  circumstances 
may  determine,  intent  upon  receiving  their  fifty 
cents'   worth    of  amusement.      No;    the   brilliant 


THE  KIJNG'S  THEATRE.  19 

parterre  of  the  King's  Theatre  is  radiant  with  the 
lustrous  eyes  of  lovely  ladies,  and  sparkles  with 
their  glittering  gems.  Ranged  above,  in  their 
well-furnished  boxes,  listen  the  aristocracy  of  the 
land,  but  not  applaud  ;  that  were  too  vulgar.  A 
commoner  may  express  loudly  his  admiration,  but 
an  earl  or  a  duke  is  presumed  to  have  survived  the 
ordinary  expression  either  of  surprise  or  pleasure. 
Too  familiar  with  all  things  to  be  astonished  at 
any  thing,  he  testifies  by  the  approving  nod,  or  the 
greater  encomium  of  a  smile,  his  concurrence  with 
the  popular  opinion. 

Such  is  the  aristocratic  assemblage  in  whose 
presence  the  Grisi  warbles  forth  her  sweet  strains, 
not  greeted,  it  is  true,  with  the  enthusiastic  plau- 
dits, which  Italy  and  France  have  showered  upon 
her,  but  listened  to  by  an  audience,  the  like  of 
which  can  be  congregated  in  no  other  city  of  Eu- 
rope, and,  what  is  of  greater  moment  to  the  favored 
children  of  song  than  either  applause  or  conse- 
quence, willing  to  pay  roundly  for  their  pleasures 
in  the  hard  sovereigns  of  the  realm.  It  is  unne- 
cessary to  expatiate  upon  the  beauties  or  curiosi- 
ties of  London.  Who  that  has  read,  is  not  familiar 
with  Regent  Street,  Hyde  Park,  the  Colosseum, 
&c.  I  leave  these  for  other  tourists,  and  speed  me 
away. 

After  a  month's  residence,  I  bade  adieu  to  the 
Great  Metropolis,  and  took  passage  on  board  the 
Dutch  steam-boat  Batavier  for  Rotterdam.  We  got 
under  weigh  at  ten,  A.  M.,  and  dropped  slowly  down 
the    stream.     The    broad    bosom  of  the    Thames 


20  ROTTERDAM. 

below  London  Bridge  is  so  covered  with  shipping, 
that  the  steam-boats  are  obliged  to  thread  their  way 
through  the  obstructed  channel  with  much  caution. 
It  is,  in  sooth,  a  pleasant  sight,  as  jou  pass  slowly 
along,  to  mark  the  various  flags  of  almost  every 
nation,  streaming  from  those  floating  castles  of 
commerce,  that  are  hither  borne  by  wind  and  wave 
to  pour  their  products  into  the  lap  of  Old  England, 
and  receive  of  her  generous  bounty  in  return. 
Upon  proceeding  a  few  miles,  the  Thames  assumes 
a  character  widely  diverse  from  that  marking  the 
turbid  stream  that  bears  away  the  filth  of  London. 
Its  waters  are  now  comparatively  clear ;  and,  ex- 
panding to  a  noble  width,  it  may  be  considered 
rather  as  an  arm  of  the  sea  than  a  river.  As  we 
approached  the  ocean,  the  wind  freshened,  the  la- 
boring vessel  rose  and  fell  heavily  upon  the  strug- 
gling bosom  of  the  wave.  I  looked  around  and 
perceived  my  own  sensations  reflected  upon  the 
pallid  countenances  of  my  fellow  suflerers ;  the 
peculiar  nature  of  those  feelings  was  not  to  be  mis- 
taken, and  I  became,  on  the  instant,  tremblingly 
alive  to  a  consciousness  of  the  ills  about  to  follow. 
My  sufferings  in  traversing  the  wide  Atlantic 
appeared  as  nothing,  when  compared  with  those 
here  compressed  within  a  few  short  hours.  The 
demon,  Sea-sickness,  rioted  throughout  all  my  being. 
Mind  and  body  alike  succumbed  to  his  dread  influ- 
ence, and  sinking,  in  the  very  perfection  of  misery, 
amid  the  scattered  trunks  and  bandboxes,  (how 
enviable  then  their  unconsciousness,)  I  drained  to 
the  dregs  the    traveller's    cup  of  anguish.     Sleep 


SENSATIONS  OF  FOREIGNERS.  21 

came  at  last  to  my  aid,  and  thus  I  passed  the  re- 
maining hours  of  that  not  to  be  forgotten  night. 
At  length  the  morning  broke,  and  how  changed 
the  scene  it  presented  !  The  unruffled  surface  of 
the  water  mirrored  the  clear  blue  of  a  cloudless  sky. 
While  before  us,  in  sight,  stretched  the  wide  Con- 
tinent, and  I  caught  my  premier  coup  d'ceil  of  the 
Netherlands.  In  an  hour,  we  were  in  the  bustlins: 
city  of  Rotterdam. 

It  seems  indeed  extraordinary  to  the  American 
traveller  in  Europe,  that  in  a  few  hours  he  finds 
changed,  not  only  the  manners  and  customs  of  men, 
but  also  the  climate  and  general  appearance  of  the 
country.  It  would  appear,  that,  with  the  distinction 
of  language,  all  other  things  were  distinct,  save 
the  grand,  universal  properties,  mental  and  physi- 
cal, which  peculiarly  appertain  to  the  human  race. 
In  our  own  country,  if  this  marked  dissimilarity 
indeed  exist,  we  notice  it  but  little.  The  same 
medium  of  communication,  prevailing,  travel  where 
we  will,  throughout  our  wide  extent  of  territory, 
preserves  in  a  great  measure  our  old  associations 
unbroken.  A  river  is  always  a  river,  a  mountain 
ever  a  mountain,  no  matter  how  magnificent  the 
one,  or  towering  the  other.  They  are  our  ovm. 
We  are  pleased  more,  perhaps,  and  admire,  but 
wonder  less.  In  a  foreign  clime,  however,  the 
difference,  scarce  marked  at  home,  will  make  itself 
immediately  felt.  There  is  something  in  speaking 
and  thinking  in  a  language  not  one's  own,  which 
makes  him  at  the  time  a  different  man.  His  pre- 
vious impressions  for  the  moment  vanish,  and  are 


22  AMSTERDAM. 

succeeded  by  others  more  in  consonance  with  the 
genius  of  the  language,  and  consequently  correspond- 
ing with  those  of  the  people  who  speak  it.  Hence 
it  is,  that  nought  so  changes  the  character  as 
long-continued  foreign  travel. 

But  to  return  from  our  digression.  I  stand  in 
Holland.  Not  twenty-four  hours  have  passed  since 
my  foot  rested  on  English  soil.  But  adieu  to  the 
hills  and  vales  of  Old  England.  The  eye  now 
wanders  o'er  the  unvarying,  unbroken  level,  so 
characteristic  of  her  ancient  rival  as  the  Mistress 
of  the  Seas.  To  a  Switzer,  fresh  from  his  own 
mountainous  clime,  Holland  would  appear  as  a  dis- 
trict wrenched  from  the  reluctant  waves  but  to 
be  again  their  speedy  and  inevitable  prey.  Being 
much  in  haste  to  go  on  and  reach  Amsterdam  that 
evening,  I  could  give  but  two  or  three  hours  to 
the  sister  city.  A  portion  of  this  time  was  passed 
in  discussing  a  tolerable  dinner  at  the  Hotel  des 
Pays  Bas,  and  the  residue  in  roaming  about  the 
quais  and  canals,  and  in  arranging  the  prelimina- 
ries for  setting  off.  This  desired  object  was  at 
length  compassed,  though  not  in  a  manner  either 
elegant  or  commodious.  In  a  miserable  little  Dutch 
vehicle,  but  ill  protected  from  the  weather,  which 
promised  to  be  inclement,  were  seated  four  of  us 
unlortunate  voyageurs,  (that  being  the  requisite 
number.)  Our  establishment  was  drawn  by  two 
jaded  apologies  for  horses,  who  looked  as  though 
their  long  services  might  have  insured  them  an 
honorable  retreat  in  the  stable,  rather  than  a  con- 
tinuation of  active  service  in  the  harness.     To  add 


HOUSE  OCCUPIED  BY  PETER  THE  GREAT.     23 

to  our  discomfiture,  the  rain  long  threatening  pour- 
ed down  at  last  in  torrents,  and  we  entered  Am- 
sterdam at  two,  P.  M.,  "  in  thunder,  lightning,  and 
in  rain."  Right  glad  were  we,  when  alighting  at 
the  door  of  our  now  welcome  hotel,  the  Grand 
Doehlen,  —  the  remembrance  of  each  petty  vexation 
chased  away  by  the  soothing  anticipation  of  a  good 
bed  and  peaceful  slumbers. 

Your  traveller  is  indeed  your  truest  philosopher ; 
living  as  he  does  in  vicissitude,  he  learns  to  appre- 
ciate the  passing  moment,  and  glean  from  it  what- 
ever there  is  of  enjoyment.  He  feels  not  the  ne- 
cessity, experienced  by  the  inactive  and  sedentary, 
of  recurring  to  the  past,  or  drawing  on  the  future, 
to  make  the  present  pass  tolerably.  Those  cares 
and  vexations,  which  so  perplex  and  annoy  the 
mass  of  civilized  mankind,  find  w^ith  him  but  an 
inhospitable  reception,  or,  if  he  feel  their  insidious 
approach,  he  has  but  to  summon  again  the  ready 
steeds.  Ay,  there  is  the  remedy  !  A  livelier  cir- 
culation combines  with  change  of  air  and  scene, 
to  chase  away  the  green  and  sickly  train  of  mel- 
ancholy fancies,  and  "  Richard  is  himself  again." 
We  remained  about  eight  days  in  Amsterdam,  pass- 
ing the  time  chiefly  in  the  galleries  of  paintings, 
and  riding  about  in  the  vicinity  of  the  city,  where 
are  to  be  found  villages,  hamlets,  and  views  well 
worthy  the  investigation  of  the  curious  traveller. 
Not  far  from  the  city  is  to  be  seen  the  house  where 
Peter  the  Great  passed  a  portion  of  his  voluntary 
exile,  intent  upon  learning  those  lessons,  which  he 
afterwards    rendered    so    practically  useful    to    his 


24  AMSTERDAM. 

subjects.  The  place  is  much  visited  by  travellers, 
who  leave  their  names  and  residences  recorded  in 
a  book,  upon  whose  ample  pages  are  found  records 
of  visiters  from  each  and  every  quarter  of  the 
civilized  world  ;  thus  paying  their  tribute  to  great- 
ness, and  gratifying  a  feeling  of  vanity  in  showing 
to  the  world  that  they  have  done  so. 

Amsterdam  bears  a  stronger  resemblance  to  our 
own  cities  than  any  other  of  the  large  towns  of 
Europe.  Its  houses  are  handsomely  built  of  brick, 
and  kept  in  that  state  of  cleanliness  so  consonant 
with  the  Dutch  character.  The  principal  streets 
are  wide,  with  canals  passing  along  in  the  centre, 
leaving  a  considerable  space  on  either  side.  Nu- 
merous bridges  are  thrown  over  the  canals  just 
high  enough  to  offer  no  obstruction  to  the  boats, 
which  are  constantly  passing  and  repassing  in  this, 
if  I  may  use  the  term,  amphibious  city.  When 
surveyed  from  the  opposite  shore  of  the  river,  upon 
whose  bank  it  is  built,  Amsterdam  will  forcibly 
recall  to  the  American  traveller  the  appearance  of 
New  York  from  Hoboken.  The  Stadt  Haus 
stands  conspicuous  among  the  buildings  of  the 
metropolis.  It  is  a  noble  edifice,  containing  many 
handsome  apartments,  adorned  with  paintings  of 
celebrated  masters,  and  a  hall,  one  of  the  most 
magnificent  in  Europe. 

To  the  traveller  fresh  from  London  or  Paris,  the 
amusements  in  this  city  will  appear  neither  numer- 
ous nor  attractive.  There  are  indeed  three  or  four 
theatres,  and  one  in  which  French  plays  are  per- 
formed exclusively,  during  several  months  of  the 


DUTCH    PAINTERS  AND  PAINTINGS.  25 

jear.  We  visited  the  two  best ;  but  the  acting 
seemed  indifferent  and  spiritless,  and  thej  were  by 
no  means  well  patronized.  The  Dutch  find  more 
amusement  at  home,  over  their  pipes  and  schiedam, 
than  at  the  theatre  or  the  concert.  In  fact,  with 
this  good-natured  people,  the  creature  comforts  take 
most  undisputed  precedence  over  intellectual  ali- 
ment. Look  upon  the  vacant  and  rubicund  coun- 
tenance of  the  worthy  burgomaster,  and  scan  his 
well-fed  frame.  That  sometime  keen-edged  weap- 
on, the  soul^  gives  here  but  little  scath  to  its  ma- 
terial sheath.  But,  though  the  mind  seem  sluggish 
and  inactive,  the  physical  qualities  and  capabilities 
of  the  man  are  by  no  means  deficient  in  develope- 
ment.  The  inhabitants  of  Holland  are  a  com- 
pactly built  and  healthy-looking  race.  The  women, 
from  their  sedentary  life  and  general  habits,  are 
much  inclined  to  embonpoint  (if  so  polite  a  term 
be  adequate  to  express  their  rotundity  of  contour)  ; 
they  likewise  usually  possess  a  fine,  fresh  color, 
and,  in  a  mere  physical  point  of  view,  are  by  no 
means  destitute  of  attraction.  There  is  but  little 
in  the  capital  of  Holland  to  induce  a  protracted 
stay.  The  amateur  of  painting  will  find,  it  is  true, 
in  the  Picture  Gallery,  and  in  the  private  collec- 
tion of  a  w^ell-known  banker,  an  occasional  chef- 
d^c^uvre  of  the  best  Dutch  masters.  Among;  these 
appear  conspicuous  the  masterly,  though  sombre 
delineations  of  Rembrandt,  and  the  efforts  of  him,* 

*  Paiilus  Potter,  a  painter  who  has  never  been,  hi  his  pecuHar 
gmre,  surpassed,  or  perhaps  equalled. 

4 


26  AMSTERDAM. 

the  painter  of  nature,  who  has  well  nigh  rivalled 
his  original ;  but,  it  must  be  confessed,  the  greater 
portion  of  the  pictorial  canvass  is  dedicated  to  sub- 
jects, whose  homely  and  uninteresting  design  fitly 
corresponds  with  their  indifference  of  execution. 
The  Dutch  painters  have  ever  been  but  too  prone 
to  copy  from  the  lower  walks  of  nature  ;  it  seems, 
indeed,  that  their  terrestrial  imaginations  are  en- 
tirely inadequate  to  grasp  that  ethereal  and  ex- 
quisite grace,  that  sheds  its  eloquent  lustre  over 
the  canvass  of  a  Raffaeile  or  a  Domenichino.  Even 
the  works  of  the  best  artists  are  liable  to  this  ob- 
jection. Observe  the  pictures  of  the  prince  of 
modern  painters,  as  he  has  been  called,  Peter  Paul 
Rubens.  Mark  the  coarse  features  of  his  women  ; 
regular,  indeed,  and  well  formed  ;  but  stamped  with 
an  expression  redolent  all  of  sense.  And  then, 
too,  their  large,  voluptuous  figures,  in  all  the  ex- 
posed truth  of  nature,  indicative  of  the  robust 
health  and  physical  ability  of  his  countrywomen 
in  general,  and  of  her  in  particular,  his  favorite 
wife,  who  appears  to  have  been  the  painter's  beau 
idml  of  female  loveliness.  Turn  from  those  to 
the  nobler  conceptions  of  the  poetic  Italian.  It 
is  not  here  the  faithful  copy  alone,  that  demands 
of  us  a  tribute  stronger  than  admiration.  It  is,  in 
truth,  the  soul  of  the  rapt  artist,  circumfused  over 
his  glowing  canvass ;  the  offspring  of  that  innate 
and  creative  power,  that  men  wonder  at  and  call 
genius. 

Thus  much  for  the  arts,  and  now  for  Dame  Na- 
ture.    I    have  only   to    observe,   that  the   features 


EXCURSION   TO   SAARDAM   AND    BROECK.  27 

she  developes  in  the  vicinity  of  the  capital,  al- 
though interesting  to  the  tourist  at  first  sight,  from 
their  very  novelty,  soon  pall  upon  the  view.  There 
is  a  tame,  ceaseless  monotony  in  Dutch  scenery, 
that  makes  one  long  to  escape  from  it,  and  fly  to 
more  diversified  climes.  A  drive  to  the  villages 
of  Saardam  and  Broeck  afforded  the  only  agreeable 
excursion  we  made  from  the  capital.  In  the  dock- 
yard of  the  former  stands  the  cottage,  which  J 
before  mentioned  was  inhabited  by  Peter  the  Great, 
while  he  labored  in  the  humble  capacity  of  ship- 
carpenter.  The  latter  village  is  peculiarly  remark- 
able for  the  extreme  cleanliness  and  neatness,  that 
reign  throughout  it.  No  quadruped,  not  even  the 
useful  horse,  is  allowed  the  freedom  of  its  scoured 
streets.  It  is  the  positive  acme  of  Dutch  pro- 
prete,  and  carried,  it  is  true,  to  rather  a  ridiculous 
excess.  Entering  the  village  a  pied,  we  could  not 
but  admire  the  neatness  and  apparent  comfort  of 
the  dwellings,  that  were  well  responded  to  by  the 
happy  and  healthy  appearance  of  those  who  inhab- 
ited them.  After  all,  apart  from  the  prudery  of 
the  thing,  if  such  extreme  be  error,  it  is  at  least 
erring  on  the  safe  side. 

A  stay  of  more   than  a  week  had  now  made  us 
familiar  with  all  the  objects  of  interest  in  Amster 
dam,   and  we  prepared   to  leave  it,  to  pursue  the 
route  to  Osnabruck,  and  from  thence  to  the  north 
of  Germany. 


CHAPTER    III. 

Utrecht.  —  Osiiabruck.  —  Arrest  for  Cigar-smoking.  —  Bremen.  — 
Extensive  Wine  Cellar.  —  Brunsvvick.  —  Antiquity  of  its  Archi- 
tecture. —  Its  Environs.  —  Vault  of  the  Brunswick  Fairiily.  —  The 
new  Ducal  Palace.  —  Hanover.  —  Objects  of  Interest.  —  Govern- 
ment —  Magdeburg.  —  Berlin.  —  The  Palace.  —  The  Royal  Mu- 
seum and  Arsenal.  —  Linden  Street.  —  Public  Amusements.  — 
Theatres.  —  The  Royal  Family. —  The  late  Queen  Louisa.  —  Pots- 
dam.—  The  Palaces.  —  Study  of  Frederic  the  Great.  —  The  New 
Palace.  —  Military  Exercises.  —  Sans  Souci.  —  Frederic  the  Great. 

After  leaving  the  capital,  the  first  city  of  note 
upon  the  route  is  Utrecht.  The  approach  to  this 
city  from  Amsterdam  is  beautiful,  and  the  general 
scenery  between  the  two  places  is  looked  upon  as 
the  finest  in  Holland.  We  had  time  to  make  but 
brief  stay  in  this  city,  and  resuming  our  journey 
arrived,  after  a  tedious  ride  of  twenty-four  hours 
through  the  dreary  wastes  and  moors  of  Westpha- 
lia, at  the  small  town  of  Lingen.  From  thence 
we  continued  our  course  to  Osnabruck,  in  the  king- 
dom of  Hanover.  Although  the  interval  separating 
these  two  towns  is  but  trifling,  yet  such  was  the 
rough  and  difficult  nature  of  the  roads,  that  we 
were  nearly  twelve  hours  in  traversing  it.  Os- 
nabruck, the  second  town,  as  regards  wealth  and 
population,  in  the  kingdom  of  Hanover,  is  a  place 
of  considerable  importance.  The  walls  and  forti- 
fications yet  retain  the  marks  of  the  severe  bom- 
bardment the  city  sustained  from  the  French,  when 


OSNABRLCK— ARREST  FOR  CIGAR-SMOKLNG.        29 

the  armies  of  Napoleon  poured  over  the  vast  tracts 
of  Germany. 

In  these  times  of  peace,  those  war-scathed  ram- 
parts afford  an  agreeable  and  spacious  promenade. 
From  their  elevated  site,  they  command  an  exten- 
sive view  of  the  surrounding  country,  and  open  to 
the  visiter,  as  he  extends  his  walk  around  them, 
many  diversified  and  picturesque  points  de  vue. 
The  authorities  in  this  place  are  strict  and  rigid 
in  enforcing;  the  observance  of  small  matters ;  a 
sufficient  illustration  of  which  can  be  furnished  in 
the  relation  of  a  little  incident  which  there  befell 
us.  We  had  just  left  our  hotel,  and  were  walking 
toward  the  ramparts,  before  reaching  which  there 
was  occasion  to  pass  by  a  large  edifice,  that  once 
might  have  been  a  handsome  palace,  but  now^  was 
defaced  and  dilapidated.  My  fellow  traveller,  at 
my  side,  was  smoking  a  cigar,  and  myself  preparing 
to  imitate  his  example,  when  a  little  man  came  up 
and  accosted  us  in  German.  Not  understanding 
him  we  walked  on,  upon  which  the  little  man 
waxed  exceedingly  furious,  and,  seizing  the  cigar 
from  my  companion,  trampled  it  under  foot. 

Surprised  at  the  proceeding,  which  could  be 
attributed  only  to  intoxication  or  madness,  we  paid 
but  small  attention  to  the  aggressor,  and  continued 
to  walk  on  as  before.  Our  mysterious  persecut- 
or followed,  at  a  trifling  distance  behind,  keeping 
his  eye  fixed  steadily  upon  us.  It  was  evident 
enough  he  intended  to  play  us  some  tour,  and  the 
event  did  not  belie  our  suspicions  ;  for,  no  sooner 
did   the   fellow  spy  a  small  detachment  of  soldiery 


30  BREMExN. 

Stationed  there  on  guard,  than  he  had  us  arrested 
and  marched  down  to  the  police  office,  where  our 
passports  were  demanded.  The  only  alternative, 
in  this  dilemma,  was  to  despatch  a  messenger  for 
our  landlord,  who  spoke  French  with  tolerable 
fluency.  Through  his  medium,  we  were  enabled 
to  express  to  the  judges,  that,  by  reason  of  an 
unfortunate  lack  of  knowledge  of  their  language 
and  customs,  we  had  been  led  inio  the  griev- 
ous error,  (that  of  smoking  on  forbidden  ground,) 
to  expiate  which  they  now  beheld  us  standing  in 
their  august  presence.  After  some  deliberation 
among  the  members  of  the  council,  it  was  decided 
in  favor  of  acquittal,  and  that  without  even  a  fine, 
much  to  the  annoyance  of  our  little  accuser,  who 
had  wrought  himself  into  a  towering  passion,  and 
taken  no  little  trouble  to  apprehend  us,  and  all  to 
no  effect. 

After  leaving  Osnabruck,  our  next  stop  of  con- 
sequence was  at  Bremen.  Two  days  were  passed 
agreeably  enough  in  viewing  this  city  and  its  curi- 
osities, one  of  the  most  ancient  and  singular  of 
which  is  the  church,  supposed  to  be  among  the 
oldest  in  Germany. 

There  is  also  here  an  extensive  Wine  Cellar, 
containing  huge  pipes  of  the  old,  rare  wines  of  the 
country.  This  should  be  viewed  by  the  tourist, 
who,  if  he  wish  to  engrave  the  spot  more  strongly 
upon  his  memory,  should  (as  we  did)  crack  a  bottle 
of  old  Rudesheimer,  or  such  other  of  the  sparkling 
Rhenish  fraternity,  as  best  may  suit  his  fancy  ;  for 
it  must  be  allowed,  there  is  no  mode  of  invigorating 


BRUNSWICK.  31 

one's  reminiscences  like  your  true  practical  one, 
which,  by  an  intuitive  sympathy,  leads  the  intelli- 
gent traveller  to  conform  his  actions  to  the  spirit 
of  the  place,  and  do  as  he  would  were  the  Genius 
Loci,  in  propria  persona,  before  him. 

Like  all  the  cities  of  Germany,  Bremen  has  its 
pretty,  shaded  walks  and  promenades ;  indeed, 
these  seem  to  be  indispensable  with  the  Germans. 
The  hotels  are  good  ;  the  city,  in  its  general  as- 
pect, neat  and  cleanly  for  a  continental  town.  It 
possesses  a  theatre,  though  not  always  performers, 
an  extensive  reading-room,  &c. 

Our  route  now  led  us  to  Brunswick.  We  ar- 
rived there  late  in  the  night,  and,  rumbling  along 
its  gloomy,  ill-paved  streets,  stopped  at  length  at 
the  gates  of  a  spacious  hotel.  After  arousing  the 
porter  from  his  slumbers,  an  affair  of  some  difficulty, 
the  massive  doors  were  thrown  open,  and,  without 
more  ado,  ourselves  and  luggage  speedily  consigned 
to  repose.  The  next  day  dawned  beautifully,  and 
we  early  sallied  forth  on  our  business  of  curiosity. 
My  recollections  of  Brunswick  are  pleasant ;  the 
town  is  extremely  ancient  in  its  general  appear- 
ance, and  its  architecture  is  totally  diverse  from 
that  light,  airy  style,  that  characterizes  the  more 
modern  capitals  of  the  German  States  ;  but  it  is 
from  its  very  antiquity,  that  Brunswick  derives,  in 
the  view  of  the  traveller,  its  greatest  interest. 
The  eye  wanders  over  those  sombre,  time-worn 
edifices,  that  meet  it  on  every  side,  conveying  back 
to  the  reflecting  mind,  mingled  with  what  stands 
clearly    and    palpably   before    you,    images  of   the 


32  BRUNSWICK. 

shadowy  past,  with  its  long  train  of  changes,  al- 
tering the  face  of  Germany,  of  Europe,  and  of  the 
world  ;  and  yet  these  massive  piles  have  stood  the 
while,  and  yet  loiU  stand. 

About  the  environs  of  Bnmswick  are  beautiful 
walks ;  and  I  recollect  a  delightful  wood,  threaded 
with  romantic,  secluded  paths,  along  which,  on  a 
summer's  day,  while  the  rays  of  the  sun,  broken 
by  the  waving  boughs,  fall  faint  and  tremulous 
upon  your  way,  and  the  joyous  singing  of  the 
birds  softens  and  tranquillizes,  it  were  indeed  a 
pleasure  to  wander,  to  lose  one's  self  for  a  space 
of  time,  the  more  exquisite  from  being  but,  alas, 
too  brief. 

Unquestionably,  that  which  must  afford  to  the 
American  as  well  as  English  tourist  a  more  par- 
ticular, even  though  a  melancholy  interest,  is  the 
vault  in  which  are  entombed  the  remains  of  the 
princely  family  of  Brunswick.  Here  lies  Caroline, 
the  unfortunate  consort  of  George  the  Fourth, 
her  body  enclosed  in  a  triple  coffin.  By  her  side 
slumbers  the  noble  Duke  of  Brunswick  Oels,  who 
fell  at  Waterloo.  Around  them  are  seen  other 
numerous  tenants  of  that  gloomy  chamber,  whose 
deeds  have  rendered  them  less  known  to  Fame. 
The  scene  was  impressive,  as  we  stood  in  the 
partial  obscurity,  but  faintly  chased  away  by  the 
rays  of  a  solitary  taper,  and  gazed  upon  what 
was  greatness. 

The  object  that  now  appears  most  to  attract  at- 
tention, whether  from  native  or  stranger,  is  the 
new  Ducal  Palace,  which,  at  the  time  of  our  visit, 


HANOVER.  33 

was  not  entirely  completed.  This  noble  pile  prom- 
ises to  rank  high  amongst  the  finest  palaces  in 
Europe.  Indeed,  one  cannot  but  wonder,  that  the 
treasury  of  the  Duke  should  be  in  a  condition 
to  meet  the  demand,  which  must  spring  from  the 
indulgence  of  this  costly  whim. 

Having  passed  a  day  or  two  agreeably  in  wan- 
dering about  the  streets  and  gardens  of  this  ancient 
town,  and  in  viewing  all  it  possesses  of  curious  or 
interesting,  the  restless  spirit  of  travel  admonished 
us  to  be  again  on  the  way. 

Hanover  was  the  next  place  of  importance  to 
be  visited  ;  and  there,  after  passing  a  restless  night 
in  our  lumbering  vehicle,  we  arrived  just  as  the 
rising  sun  was  ushering  into  existence  one  of  the 
loveliest  days  of  June.  The  principal  hotel,  where 
we  lodged,  is  a  well-conducted  establishment,  its 
landlord  displaying  a  true  British  taste  in  his  at- 
tention to  those  important  items,  eating,  drinking, 
and  sleeping. 

The  Palace  and  gardens  in  Hanover  are  pretty, 
without  laying  claim  to  magnificence  ;  and  there  is 
a  long  and  most  beautiful  walk,  extending  as  far 
in  the  distance  as  the  eye  can  reach,  with  trees 
at  regular  intervals  on  either  side.  There  is  also 
an  imposing  column,  erected  in  memory  of  the  bat- 
tle of  Waterloo,  whose  towering  height  and  ele- 
gant proportions  cannot  fail  to  attract  the  gaze  of 
the  traveller.  Other  than  these,  there  seem  to  be 
no  particularly  striking  features  to  distinguish  the 
general  appearance  of  Hanover  from  that  of  other 
German  towns.  Here  is  a  pretty  little  theatre, 
5 


MAGDEBURG. 


which  we  visited  on  the  evening  of  our  arrival. 
The  performance  was  creditable,  and  the  principal 
actress,  the  "  star  "  of  the  occasion,  unusually  pret- 
ty and  attractive.  The  audience  was  well  check- 
ered with  soldiery,  which,  though  it  may  savour,  in 
our  republican  opinions,  of  a  military  despotism, 
imparts,  with  its  glittering  insignia  of  epaulette 
and  sword,  an  air  of  brilliancy  and  life  to  the  coup 
d^ceil,  which  can  never  be  where  the  black  coat 
reigns  predominant. 

The  Hanoverian  subjects  of  his  Britannic  Ma- 
jesty are  too  far  removed  from  the  Sovereign  Isles 
to  know  or  care  much  about  their  monarch,  and 
but  few  of  them  are  able  to  clothe  their  ideas  in 
other  vesture  than  the  true,  honest  German.  They 
are  governed  by  a  viceroy,  entitled  King  of  Han- 
over ;  at  present  the  Duke  of  Cambridge  sustains 
that  dignity.  Their  manners  and  customs  are  their 
own,  and  but  slightly  modified  by  admixture  of 
the  British  leaven.* 

After  leaving  Hanover,  w^e  were  not  long  in 
reaching  the  confines  of  Prussia.  Magdeburg  is 
the  first  town  of  importance,  that  claims  the  trav- 
eller's attention.  It  is  a  place  of  great  strength, 
and,  with  its  yawning  fosses,  its  massive  and  tow- 
ering battlements,  would  seem  to  set  invasion  at 
defiance  ;  within  the  walls  also,  it  wears  a  decid- 
edly military  appearance,  as  is  generally  the  case 
with  Prussian  towns.     Troops  are  everyw^here  seen 


*  Since  this  was  written,  the  demise  of  the  Enghsh  King  has  ele- 
vated Hanover  to  an  indej)endent  monarchy. 


BERLIN.  35 

traversing  the  streets,  and  all  bespeaks  the  warlike 
disposition  of  the  people,  upon  whose  territory  we 
are  but  just  entering.  Our  stay  here  was  of  short 
continuance.  The  Sclinellc  Poste  for  Berlin  gave 
us  only  time  to  catch  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  city 
and  despatch  a  hasty  dinner,  when  all  was  ready, 
and  off  we  set  for  the  capital.  The  ride  occupied 
some  sixteen  or  seventeen  hours,  at  the  expiration 
of  which  time  we  halted  a  moment  at  the  gates  of 
Berlin.  The  large  city  lay  extended  before  us ; 
its  spires  and  turrets  gleaming  in  the  rays  of  a 
morning  sun.  We  entered,  and,  having  arranged 
the  necessary  preliminaries  which  ever  await  the 
traveller  in  Germany,  not  unwillingly  exchanged 
the  fatigues  of  coach  and  travel  for  the  comforts 
of  a  good  hotel,  with  spirits  enlivened  by  the  an- 
ticipation of  a  week  or  two's  immunity  from  care 
and  toil  in  no  less  a  place  than  the  city  of  the 
great  Frederic. 

Berlin  is  a  handsome  capital,  and  may  be  con- 
sidered, with  the  exception  of  Munich,  the  best 
built  town  in  Germany  ;  its  streets  are  broad  and 
straight,  while  the  natural  compactness  of  a  crowd- 
ed city  is  relieved  by  the  admission  of  frequent 
and  spacious  squares.  Habituated  to  the  confined 
and  inelegant  style,  so  generally  characteristic  of 
continental  towns,  the  traveller  here  dwells  with 
pleasure  upon  the  fair  open  prospect  and  extended 
vistas  that  greet  the  eye. 

The  finest  buildings  in  Berlin  are  the  Royal 
Palace  and  Museum,  and  the  Arsenal,  together 
with  one  or  two  of  the  theatres.     The  Palace  is 


36  BERLIN. 

a  large,  ancient-looking  edifice,  built  of  a  species 
of  stone,  which  time  and  exposure  have  rendered 
of  a  dark  and  sombre  hue.  Its  doors  are  thrown 
courteously  open  to  strangers,  who  do  not  fail  to  be 
much  interested  by  the  select  specimens  of  the 
fine  arts  embraced  within  its  walls,  together  with 
the  rare  and  costly  designs,  that  decorate  its  spa- 
cious apartments. 

The  other  buildings  most  worthy  of  visiting  are 
the  Royal  Museum  and  the  Arsenal.  These  edi- 
fices stand  not  far  apart,  upon  the  most  beautiful 
square  in  Berlin,  or  perhaps  in  any  other  European 
city.  In  the  midst  of  this  spacious  area,  an  ever- 
flowing  fountain  throws  upward  its  lofty  jet.  Upon 
one  side  the  square  is  bounded  by  the  lengthened 
range  of  the  Royal  Palace,  while  the  magnificent 
edifices  above  mentioned  limit  its  extent  upon  the 
others.  From  its  centre  issues  the  finest  street  in 
the  metropolis,  terminating  with  the  splendid  Bran- 
denburg gate,  and  skirted  nearly  its  whole  length, 
on  either  side,  with  an  unbroken  line  of  lindens, 
from  which  it  has  derived  the  appellation  of  the 
Street  of  Lindens  (Linden  Strasse).  This  noble 
thoroughfare  is  the  established  promenade,  and, 
indeed,  a  more  delightful  one  could  scarcely  be 
desired.  The  rich  foliage,  with  its  protecting 
shade,  the  gay  groups  that  environ  you,  and  the 
roomy  width  of  the  fine  avenues,  unite  to  form  an 
ensemble,  but  rarely  exceeded  in  beauty.  As  you 
pass  down  this  street,  and  emerge,  at  length,  from 
the  city,  by  the  Brandenburg  gate,  you  come  upon 
a  miniature  forest,   thickly   enough   studded   with 


THEATRES.  37 

trees,  but  whose  redundant  luxuriance  is  evidently 
restrained  by  the  hand  of  man.  From  the  absence 
of  underwood,  this  pretty  grove,  with  its  leafy  can- 
opy, forms  a  most  agreeable  locale  for  the  prom- 
enade, during  the  sultry  hours  of  a  summer's  day ; 
and  the  numerous  paths,  which  strike  into  its 
depths,   attest  that  it   is  much  frequented. 

I  shall  now  advert,  in  a  few  words,  to  the  state 
of  the  public  amusements,  among  which  stand  con- 
spicuous the  theatres  ;  and,  indeed,  at  the  time  of 
my  visit,  during  the  warm  season,  these  were  the 
only  ones  wherewith  to  beguile  the  careless  evening 
hour. 

There  are  several  theatres  in  Berlin,  one  or  two 
handsomely  built.  There  is  one  appropriated  for 
the  use  of  the  French  company,  and  plays  in  that 
language  are  performed  during  a  great  part  of  the 
year.  This  theatre  is  a  popular  resort  for  the  bet- 
ter class  of  citizens,  officers  of  rank,  &c.,  who 
pique  themselves  upon  their  accurate  and  classical 
knowledge  of  the  French  language,  an  acquaint- 
ance with  which  is  deemed  indispensable  in  even 
a  tolerable  education  ;  although,  from  the  intense 
hatred  the  Prussians  have  borne  towards  the  French, 
it  has  never  become  with  them,  as  in  some  German 
states,  the  language  of  the  court. 

The  principal  theatre  possesses,  in  addition  to 
other  attractions,  a  fair  corps  de  ballet.  The  house 
is  quite  spacious,  more  so  than  any  other  I  recollect 
having  seen  in  Germany.  It  appeared  to  me  to  be 
very  well  patronized,  particularly  by  the  military, 
here  the  very  elite  of  society.     These  gentry,  clad 


38  BERLIN. 

in  their  uniforms,  very  nearly  monopolized  the  first 
circle,  so  that  the  poor  civilians  were  fain  to  take 
refuge  in  the  orchestra  or  parterre,  without  disput- 
ing for  precedence  with  their  mustachioed  rivals. 
In  the  centre  of  the  first  circle  appears  the  King's 
box,  distinguished  by  its  superior  size  and  the  in- 
signia of  royalty  that  adorn  it.  There  I  saw  the 
Crown  Prince  of  Prussia,  a  tall,  dignified  man,  and 
several  ladies  and  gentlemen  of  the  royal  family. 
The  King  was  not  with  them,  preferring  a  seat 
with  his  consort  in  a  loge  over  the  stage,  which 
commanded  a  better  view  of  the  scene.  The  mon- 
arch and  his  family  are  seemingly  much  beloved 
by  the  people.  When  the  performances  were  over, 
the  sides  of  the  passage  conducting  to  the  private 
door  by  which  his  Majesty  usually  quitted  the 
theatre  were  crowded  by  his  loving  subjects,  anx- 
ious to  witness  the  royal  exit.  As  the  Kdnig  and 
retinue  passed  slowly  along  the  centre,  every  head 
was  uncovered,  and  the  spectators  regarded  the 
august  assemblage  with  much  seeming  veneration. 
The  King  is  a  greater  personage  in  Prussia  than 
in  France  ;  and  that  military  despotism  established 
by  Frederic  the  First,  and  carried  to  perfection  by 
the  great  Frederic,  has  not  faded  away  in  the 
hands  of  their  successors. 

The  immediate  environs  of  Berlin  are  not  very 
interesting  ;  but  there  are  situations,  at  a  short  dis- 
tance from  it,  which  the  traveller  should  by  no 
means  neglect  to  visit.  At  Charlottenburg,  distant 
two  or  three  miles  from  the  metropolis,  there  is  a 
summer  palace,  once  a  favorite   residence  of  the 


THE  LATE  QUEEN  LOUISA.  39 

King.  Here  is  to  be  seen  a  beautiful  statue  of 
the  late  Queen  of  Prussia,  Louisa.  This  splendid 
production  is,  I  believe,  from  the  chisel  of  Ranch  ; 
the  room  in  which  it  lies  is  arranged  in  a  neat  and 
classic  style,  so  as  to  display  it  to  the  greatest  ad- 
vantage. Upon  an  elevated  sarcophagus  in  the 
centre  is  extended  the  figure,  in  the  motionless 
repose  of  death  ;  the  marble  folds  fall  gracefully 
over  the  faultless  symmetry  they  in  .part  conceal, 
while  the  countenance  wears  that  heavenly  beauty 
of  expression,  which  the  imagination  may  conceive, 
but  the  pen  in  vain  would  attempt  to  portray. 

The  King  was  most  fondly  attached  to  his  Queen, 
and,  it  is  said,  has  never  recovered  from  the  shock 
her  death  occasioned  him.  She  was  too  high-spir- 
ited to  survive  the  suffering  of  her  country,  and 
the  disgrace  put  upon  her  husband,  her  people, 
and  herself.  The  star  of  Napoleon  was  in  the 
ascendant,  and  yielding,  heart-broken,  to  the  des- 
potic arrogance  of  the  conqueror,  she  died.  But 
the  memory  of  the  good  Queen  Louisa  still  lives 
in  the  breast  of  each  true  Prussian,  while  the 
more  indifferent  stranger  may  view,  as  far  as  may 
be  in  aught  inanimate,  traced  on  the  sweet  linea- 
ments of  that  marbled  countenance,  those  amiable 
virtues,  which  had  so  distinguished  the  original. 
About  four  German  or  sixteen  English  miles  from 
the  capital,  is  the  formerly  celebrated  town  of 
Potsdam.  The  ride  hither  from  Berlin  is  beauti- 
ful ;  a  smooth,  hard  road,  over  which  you  whirl, 
with  an  English  stagecoach  rapidity,  conducts  you 
through  a  smiling  and   highly   cultivated  country. 


40  POTSDAM. 

In  the  sweet  season  of  summer,  everywhere  around 
are  to  be  seen  fair  prospects  and  situations,  that 
fill  the  eye  with  delight.  Arrived  at  the  town, 
you  are  impressed  with  the  solemn  stillness  that 
reigns,  and  with  the  air  of  state  and  grandeur 
which  seems  still  to  cling  about  this  cradle  of 
Prussia's  warlike  kings. 

The  chief  objects  of  interest  to  the  stranger  at 
Potsdam  are  the  Palaces,  of  which  there  are  no 
less  than  three.  The  old  palace  we  first  visited  ; 
and,  having  threaded  our  way  through  its  numer- 
ous apartments,  were  shown  the  private  room  or 
study  of  the  great  Frederic,  said  to  be  left  pre- 
cisely as  in  his  time.  Here  he  used  to  discourse 
with  one  resembling  him  much  in  principle,  and 
gifted,  perhaps,  with  superior  talents,  Voltaire.  In 
this  little  apartment  were  resolved  upon  and  ma- 
tured those  plans,  whose  successful  accomplish- 
ment elevated  Prussia  from  her  mere  station  of 
province  to  a  rank  among  the  proudest  powers  of 
Europe. 

The  new  palace  of  Potsdam  is  a  noble  edifice ; 
its  interior  is  gorgeous  in  the  extreme.  Among 
the  many  magnificent  apartments  was  one,  that 
struck  me  particularly,  from  its  very  singularity. 
This  spacious  room  had  been  so  arranged  as  to 
convey  to  the  mind  the  idea  of  a  fairy  grotto. 
All  around  the  walls,  were  planted,  in  the  firm  ce- 
ment, sparkling  minerals  and  ores,  with  an  occasion- 
al admixture  of  rare  shells.  Surveyed  by  the  glare 
of  torch  or  chandelier,  with  heightened  illusion, 
the  effect    must    have   been   most  brilliaitt ;    as  it 


PALACES.  41 

was,  though  by  no  means  devoid  of  a  picturesque 
beauty,  it  seemed  rather  to  belong  to  the  barbaric 
splendor  of  ancient  Germany,  than  to  the  more 
refined  taste  of  our  later  day. 

While  looking  from  a  window  of  this  palace,  I 
had  an  opportunity  of  seeing  a  small  body  of  troops 
go  through  their  exercise.  Nothing  could  be  more 
exact  and  simultaneous  than  was  their  every  move- 
ment. The  ring  of  their  muskets,  as  they  touched 
the  ground,  gave  forth  but  one  sound  ;  each  piece 
was  brought  to  the  shoulder  at  the  same  moment 
of  time ;  the  wheeling,  marching,  all  was  most 
soldier-like,  and  denoted  high  discipline  ;  and  yet 
these  soldiers,  the  best  disciplined,  as  it  was  thought, 
in  Europe,  were  no  match  for  the  troops  led  by 
Napoleon.  Defeated  and  broken  in  almost  every 
engagement,  they  were  at  length  obliged  to  submit 
to  the  fate  of  the  vanquished.  I  shall  not  here 
attempt  to  decide  upon  what  may  be  the  best 
mode  of  discipline  for  insuring  victory,  nor  to  what 
point  that  discipline  may  be  carried  without  trans- 
forming the  soldier  into  a  mere  machine. 

Leaving  discussions  on  this  subject  to  better 
judges,  I  will  resume  my  survey  of  the  ancient 
capital  of  Prussia.  There  was  yet  one  more  royal 
seat  to  be  visited,  which  bears  the  attractive  ap- 
pellation of  Sans  Souci.  Here  passed  the  closing 
days  of  Frederic's  eventful  life.  At  the  time  we 
visited  the  Chateau,  it  was  partly  tenanted,  and 
strangers  were  permitted  only  to  gratify  their  cu- 
riosity by  viewing  the  exterior  and  the  grounds, 
which  were  laid  out  in  a  tasteful  manner.  The 
6 


42  POTSDAM. 

prospect  from  the  elevated  terrace  is  beautiful  and 
extensive.  The  tall  and  stately  trees,  that  rise  in 
every  quarter  of  the  city  were  there,  in  all  their 
gorgeousness  of  leaf  and  hue,  and  the  earth's  un- 
dulating bosom,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  was 
clad  in  its  luxuriant  and  waving  dress  of  green. 
Towering  and  venerable  rose  the  occasional  pile, 
as  if  to  attest  the  former  grandeur  of  the  place. 
Long  I  lingered  over  the  wide-extended  view, 
which,  though  lovely  and  tranquillizing  in  itself,  de- 
rives much  of  its  power  to  please  from  the  resistless 
magic  of  association.  Upon  this  now  happy  spot, 
where  nature  reigns  quiet  and  undisturbed,  the 
annals  of  a  past  age  will  suggest  but  the  stir- 
ring incidents  of  military  power.  This  verdant  and 
rejoicing  earth  I  gaze  upon,  then  resounded  to 
the  measured  tramp  of  armed  legions,  and  here, 
where  I  now  stand,  beat  that  firm  and  dauntless 
heart,  which  sent  its  warm  life-blood  through  the 
whole  complicated  Economy,  infusing  into  all  around 
its  own  unconquerable  spirit  of  victory. 

As  regards  the  Palace  itself,  although  a  hand- 
some edifice,  it  is  too  deficient  in  height  to  merit 
the  epithet  of  imposing.  Its  light,  airy  appear- 
ance, however,  pleases  the  eye,  and  contrasts  fa- 
vorably with  the  large  piles,  not  far  distant,  whose 
sombre  magnificence  would  seem  to  preclude  the 
admission  of  those  little,  social  pastimes  and  pur- 
suits, which,  by  unbending  the  mind,  fit  it  to  re- 
turn, with  renewed  elasticity,  to  the  weighty 
affairs  of  state.  Probably  Frederic  thought  thus ; 
for  this  little  palace  appears  to  have  been   his  fa- 


FREDERIC  THE  GREAT.  43 

vorite  residence.  You  are  shown  where  the  mon- 
arch was  accustomed  to  take  his  daily  morning's 
promen.de  ;  you  are  also  directed  to  the  spot,  hard 
by  the  Chateau,  where  lie  interred  several  of  his 
favorite  dogs. 

No  circumstance  connected  with  the  life  of  their 
great  king  seems  unimportant  to  the  Prussians. 
The  faults  and  vices  of  his  character  have  nearly 
disappeared  from  their  vision,  beneath  the  expung- 
ing hand  of  time,  while  appear  the  more  prominent 
his  shining  qualities,  as  the  valiant  and  successful 
guardian  of  an  infant  state,  as  the  framer  of  the 
salutary  laws  upon  which  its  dearly  bought  liberties 
must  be  ever  based.  I  had  almost  forgotten  to 
mention  our  visit  to  the  church  within  whose  con- 
secrated walls  repose  the  ashes  of  the  celebrated 
monarch.  The  church  itself,  under  other  circum- 
stances, might  be  an  object  of  interest  to  the  trav- 
eller ;  but  now  you  scarce  pause  lo  take  a  hasty 
survey  ;  your  steps  are  directed  towards  the  tomb. 
The  person  in  attendance  throws  open  the  inter- 
vening door,  and  before  you  lies  all  that  remains 
upon  earth  of  the  distinguished  warrior,  statesman, 
king.  I  saw  not  the  inscription,  which  is  said  to 
have  been  placed  there,  of  this  import ;  "  Here 
repose  my  ashes,  my  renown  fills  the  world  "  {Hie 
cineres,  ubique  fama).  The  epitaph  would  be,  in- 
deed, most  appropriate. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

ReflectioDs  on  Travel.  —  Environs  of  Leipsic.  —  The  Battle-Ground. 

—  Monument  to  Poniatowski.  —  Absence  of  Public  Amusements. 

—  Dresden.  —  The  Gallery  of  Paintings.  —  The  Madonna  of  Raf- 
feelle.  —  Paintings  of  Correggio.  —  Jewel  OiRce  or  Treasury. — 
Dresden  Porcelain.  —  General  3Ioreau.  —  Tiie  Envii'ons  of  Dres- 
den.—  Style  of  Architecture.  —  The  King  and  Royal  Family. — 
Moral  Condition  of  Society. 

Having  now  satisfied  our  curiosity  in  visiting 
the  objects  most  worthy  of  interest  in  this  city, 
we  summoned  our  carriage,  and  whirled  off,  at  a 
rapid  pace,  on  the  road  to  Berlin,  indulging,  as 
we  rode  along,  in  such  reveries  and  speculations, 
as  a  day  thus  spent  would  naturally  tend  to  give 
birth  to.  There  is,  in  sooth,  an  intense  excitement, 
little  dreamed  of  by  the  stationary,  that  the  ardent 
traveller  experiences  when  finding  himself  for  the 
first  time  upon  a  spot  where  were  performed  the 
most  illustrious  acts  that  gild  a  celebrated  name. 
Those  exploits,  the  bare  perusal  of  which  fired  his 
youthful  imagination  at  the  school  or  university, 
heightened  now  by  the  association  of  scene,  assail 
the  mind  with  tenfold  effect.  The  heated  fancy 
lends  its  magical  illusion;  and,  ceasing  to  be  a  mere 
spectator,  he  becomes,  for  the  moment,  identified 
with  the  hero  of  his  admiration.  A  warmer  ex- 
citement thrills  through  each  particular  vein  and 
fibre  ;  it  passes,  it  is  true,  and,  like  all  other  ex- 
citements,   has    its    reaction ;    but    even    the    very 


REMARKS   ON   TRAVELLING.  45 

melancholy  that  succeeds,  weighs  it  not  heavier 
in  the  balance,  than  the  vain  follies  the  world  terms 
pleasure  ?  It  has  been  said,  that  a  man  speaking 
seven  or  eight  different  languages  is  equivalent  to 
an  equal  number  of  men  who  are  acquainted  with 
but  one.  May  it  not  with  similar  propriety  be 
urged,  that  a  man  who  has  resided  in  the  same  num- 
ber of  countries,  each  possessing  its  distinct  asso- 
ciations and  customs,  which  so  change  our  thoughts 
and  feelings,  nay,  oft  our  very  selves,  —  may  it  not 
be  said,  that  an  existence  thus  passed  bears  a  pro- 
portionate ratio  to  the  lives  of  as  many  persons 
who  have  never  quitted  the  land  of  their  nativity  ? 
If  the  sum  total  of  our  being  were  to  be  reckoned 
by  an  addition  of  events  and  sensations,  not  years, 
such  must  be  the  result. 

There  are  indeed  minds,  which  would  seem  in- 
capable of  receiving  vivid  impressions,  whether 
from  the  magnificent  in  nature,  or  the  celebrated 
in  story.  Upon  such,  the  time  consumed  in  travel 
were  indeed  lost.  The  mind  of  man  must  be 
stored  and  enriched  with  the  fruits  of  reading, 
study,  and  reflection,  ere  it  be  adequate  to  the  full 
appreciation  of  the  beautiful  or  sublime.  Like  the 
field  of  the  husbandman,  it  must  be  carefully  and 
diligently  tilled,  and  the  seed  committed  to  it  will 
not  disappoint  of  the  harvest. 

We  had  now  whiled  away  near  two  weeks  in 
the  Prussian  capital,  and  had  glanced  at  every 
thing  that  was  deemed  worthy  of  notice.  The 
hours  flew  pleasantly  by  ;  spring  had  ripened  into 
summer ;  it  was  time  to  bid  adieu.     Many  leagues 


46  LEIPSIC. 

were  to  be  traversed,  many  cities  to  be  scanned, 
ere  the  traveller  might  hail  the  castled  banks  of 
the  broad  and  sweeping  Rhine,  or  dwell  with  en- 
thusiasm on  thine  unrivalled  scenery,  romantic 
Switzerland.  The  ride  from  Berlin  to  Leipsic,  the 
next  town  of  importance  on  our  route,  is  by  no 
means  interesting.  It  occupied  about  eighteen 
hours.  Much  fatigued  by  the  exercise  and  exces- 
sive heat  conjoined,  and  annoyed  by  clouds  of  dust, 
we  were  fain  at  length  to  take  shelter  within  the 
hospitable  walls  of  that  venerable  town.  The 
weather,  which  was  as  warm  and  oppressive  as  I 
recollect  ever  having  experienced,  rendered  it  inex- 
pedient to  yield  immediately  to  the  promptings  of 
curiosity.  At  eve,  however,  we  sallied  forth,  under 
the  guidance  of  a  domestique  de  place,  to  enjoy  a 
turn  in  the  public  promenades,  which  are  arranged 
with  much  taste.  There  is  an  agreeable  diversity 
in  these  walks,  a  pleasing  contrast  of  eminence  and 
slope,  with  here  and  there  a  monumental  stone 
and  inscriptions,  to  attract  the  eye.  Led  on  by 
the  increasing  softness  of  a  twilight  scene,  we 
lingered  until  the  evening  was  far  advanced.  The 
moon  shone  brightly  above ;  and,  bathed  in  its 
cold,  mystic  rays,  stood,  solemn  and  still,  the  gray 
battlements  and  lofty  towers  of  the  ancient  city. 

The  ensuing  morning  we  left  our  hotel  betimes, 
to  commence  the  business  of  the  day.  To  the 
modern  traveller,  the  battle  of  Leipsic  is  one  of  the 
most  interesting  associations  connected  with  that 
city ;  accordingly  our  researches  were  speedily  ex- 
tended to  the  site  of  this  memorable  combat.     The 


THE   BATTLE-GROUND.  47 

best  view  is  obtained  by  ascending  a  lofty  obser- 
vatory, which  overlooks  the  field.  From  this  emi- 
nence were  pointed  out  to  us  the  several  situations 
of  the  Russian,  Prussian,  and  Austrian  divisions, 
with  that  also  of  Napoleon  and  his  legions  ;  but 
with  what  accuracy  I  cannot  pretend  to  say.  Upon 
descending  from  the  observatory,  we  traversed  on 
foot  a  section  of  the  extended  field.  Upon  one 
side  it  is  bounded  by  a  little  river  or  rivulet,  called 
the  Elster.  In  this  stream  perished,  after  a  gallant 
defence.  Prince  Poniatowski,  "  the  last  of  the 
Poles."  To  look  at  it,  you  would  suppose  an  active 
steed  might  clear  the  narrow  channel  at  a  bound, 
though,  to  an  exhausted  and  retreating  army,  its 
waters  proved  well  nigh  an  impassable  barrier. 
Near  the  spot  where  the  Polish  prince  spurred  his 
charger  into  the  fatal  stream,  is  seen  a  low  mon- 
ument, bearing  a  Latin  inscription,  wherein  you 
find  recorded  the  many  virtues  and  the  touching 
fate  of  this  noble  and  unfortunate  soldier.  There 
are  pleasant  gardens  in  this  vicinity  open  to  the 
public  ;  as  you  stroll  through  them  and  survey  the 
fair  face  of  nature,  clothed  in  the  sunny  smiles, 
that  man's  disfiguring  passions  can  chase  away 
but  for  a  time,  you  cannot  refrain  from  wondering 
that  War  should  have  pitched  upon  so  tranquil  a 
spot  for  the  celebration  of  his  sanguinary  orgies. 

There  were  no  public  amusements  of  conse- 
quence in  the  city,  at  the  time  of  our  visit.  The 
theatre  was  closed,  there  were  no  concerts,  no 
instrumental  music  to  be  heard,  a  rare  thing  in 
German  cities ;    so  that,    after  walking   about  the 


48  DRESDEN. 

Streets  and  promenades,  and  gazing  at  the  curious 
objects  for  a  day  or  two,  it  began  to  grow  dull. 
The  population  of  Leipsic  is  nearly  equal  to  that 
of  Dresden ;  but  the  attractions  it  possesses  are  by 
no  means  to  be  compared  with  those  of  the  latter 
city,  which  can  boast  more  objects  of  taste  and 
virtu  than  are  to  be  found  in  any  other  European 
capital  of  similar  magnitude. 

From  Leipsic  you  take  the  Eihvagen  to  Dresden, 
accomplishing  the  distance  in  about  nine  hours. 
The  country  through  which  you  pass,  abounds 
with  interesting  scenery.  Not  far  distant  from  the 
road  roll  the  placid  waters  of  the  Elbe,  joyfully 
hailed  by  the  traveller,  as  he  journeys  along  to  the 
fairest  city  that  reposes  upon  its  verdant  banks. 
At  length  behold  us  arrived  and  comfortably  lodged 
at  one  of  the  well-kept  hotels  that  are  clustered 
together  in  the  great  square,  ready  to  commence, 
with  the  coming  day,  a  new  campaign  of  sight- 
seeing, —  an  amusement,  which,  if  it  had  not  now 
for  us  the  winning  charm  of  novelty,  is  at  least 
of  a  nature  ever  enough  exciting  to  dispel  ennui 
and  its  host  of  attendant  ills. 

Lord  Byron  has  somewhere  remarked,  that  there 
is  no  excitement  like  travel,  save  that  which  springs 
from  ambition;  another  might  have  said  love,  but 
the  noble  poet,  if  he  had  sipped  its  pleasures,  had 
drunk  too  deep  of  its  bitterness  to  avow  such  a  sen- 
timent. Be  that  as  it  may,  it  is  an  undeniable 
fact,  that  the  excitement  resulting  from  travel  is, 
in  certain  temperaments,  of  an  almost  overpower- 
ing nature.     To  mark  the  spot  where  Caesar  lived 


GALLERY   OF   PAINTINGS.  49 

and  ceased  to  live,  to  tread  where  trod  the  foot  of 
Hannibal ;  to  stand  in  the  Forum,  that  ages  since 
rung,  perchance,  with  the  eloquence  of  a  Cicero  or 
an  Hortensius.  Oh  !  the  flood  of  associations,  that 
pours  in  upon  the  startled,  shrinking  soul,  as,  re- 
coiling from  the  sad  reality  of  the  present,  it  re- 
verts to  the  mighty  majesty  of  the  past !  —  Will 
it  be  thus  with  all  empires  ?  will  the  inquisitive 
traveller,  in  after  ages,  wander,  pilgrim-like,  amid 
the  erst  powerful  cities  of  our  own  beloved  coun- 
try, then  fallen  from  their  greatness,  and  muse, 
as  we  do  now,  over  the  ruins  of  once  Imperial 
Rome  ? 

But  to  return  from  our  digression.  The  first 
visit  of  the  stranger  in  Dresden  is  due  to  its  mag- 
nificent gallery  of  paintings,  —  a  gallery  possessing 
nobler  compositions  than  can  be  found  in  any  other 
collection,  out  of  Italy.  Among  these,  your  atten- 
tion is  riveted  to  a  picture  incomparably  superior 
to  the  rest.  It  is  the  celebrated  Madonna  of  Raf- 
faelle.  Much  has  been  said  and  written  of  this 
inspired  and  unrivalled  composition.  At  first  glance 
it  seems  more  especially  remarkable  for  the  ex- 
quisite harmony  and  softness,  that  reign  through- 
out ;  but,  as  you  continue  to  gaze  upon  it,  those 
unearthly  beauties,  that  must  have  touched  the 
soul  of  the  artist,  (as  he  viewed  them,  perchance, 
in  the  lone  vision,)  with  celestial  fire,  pass  from 
the  motionless  canvass,  and  sink  deep  into  the 
heart  of  the  beholder.  The  genius  of  the  painter, 
soaring  to  grasp  the  lofty  nature  of  his  subject, 
breathes  warm  and  fervid  in  each  line.  Nothing 
7 


50  DRESDEN. 

can  be  more  eloquent.  Upon  the  features  of  the 
blessed  Vh-gin,  you  read  the  written  thoughts  of 
the  innermost  soul,  traced  with  deeper  eloquence 
than  that  of  words.  All  appertaining  to  the  world 
has  passed  from  that  celestial  countenance,  and, 
in  its  stead,  there  dwells  an  expression,  calm,  holy, 
and  instinct  with  angelic  purity  ;  yet  breathing  a 
clear  and  almost  fearful  consciousness  of  that  glo- 
rious, inscrutable  destiny,  that  has  rendered  her 
"  blessed  among  women."  The  seraphic  counte- 
nance, with  its  ineffable  beauty,  seems  indeed  the 
very  incarnation  of  all  that  the  warmest  concep- 
tions of  her  high  and  mysterious  calling  could  at- 
tain or  embody.  In  her  maternal  embrace,  she 
sustains  the  future  Saviour  of  the  world.  The 
features  of  the  heaven-born  infant  wear  that  pecu- 
liar expression,  rarely  found  save  in  the  pictures  of 
Raffaelle  ;  an  expression  of  heavenly  mildness  and 
resignation.  But  yet  sorrow  enters  there,  and 
dwells  on  those  sweet,  unearthly  lineaments ;  it 
is  a  prophetic  sorrow,  in  unison  with  the  spirit  of 
his  holy  mission.  More  than  three  hundred  years 
have  rolled  away  since  the  painter  traced  his  im- 
mortal conception.  The  fashions,  the  tastes  of 
ages  have  altered  again  and  again  ;  but,  through  all 
these  changes,  this  great  work  has  existed,  the 
admired  of  all  admirers,  a  lasting  memorial  of  the 
genius  that  devised  it.  Time  has  not  robbed  the 
canvass  of  that  soft  and  twilight  coloring ;  the 
same  inspiration  dwells  upon  the  countenance  vir- 
tue and  innocence  have  made  their  own.  It  would 
seem  to  me,  that  the  spiritual  poetry  of  this  com- 


PAINTINGS  BY  CORREGGIO  61 

position  admits  not  of  being  transferred.  1  have 
never  heard  of  its  being  successfully  copied.  Rash 
indeed  would  be  the  attempt. 

In  the  same  apartment  with  the  Madonna  are 
to  be  seen  the  other  most  valuable  paintings  of  the 
collection,  many  of  them  possessing  the  rarest 
merit.  There  is  the  celebrated  sacred  piece  by 
Correggio,  commonly  called  his  Notte,  brilliant  as 
though  it  were  painted  but  yesterday.  This  cele- 
brated picture  is  a  wonderful  specimen  of  that 
superb  coloring,  so  characteristic  of  the  master  ; 
but,  in  classic  disposition  of  figures,  it  will  sustain 
no  comparison  with  the  finished  production  of  Raf- 
faelle.  There  is  another  Correggio  in  this  room, 
considered  by  many  the  most  perfect  picture  ever 
painted.  It  is  called  the  Magdalen.  She  is  rep- 
resented in  a  posture  nearly  recumbent,  her  head 
supported  on  the  right  elbow,  absorbed  in  the  read- 
ing of  a  volume  (the  Bible)  lying  on  the  ground 
before  her.  The  dimensions  of  the  picture  are 
small,  and  it  embraces  but  a  single  figure,  yet  is 
its  value  considered  inestimable. 

We  are  at  a  loss  to  conceive,  by  what  art  the 
ancients  were  enabled  so  to  fasten  their  colors  as 
to  defy  the  effacing  touch  of  time.  The  works  of 
Correggio  are  wonderful  instances  of  this  tenacity 
of  hue.  To  judge  by  their  brightness  and  warmth, 
you  might  suppose  them  posterior  to  those  of  Rey- 
nolds or  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  rather  than  pro- 
ductions of  the  middle  ages.  They  are,  at  the 
present  day,  considered  of  inestimable  value,  owing, 
in  a  great  degree,  no  doubt,  to  their  being  but  few 


52  DRESDEN. 

in  number.  A  picture  by  Correggio  will  command 
as  high  a  price  as  any  other  whatever  (always 
excepting  the  live  or  six  acknowledged  best,  which 
descend  from  king  to  king  as  heir-looms,  and  are 
no  more  to  be  parted  with  than  the  very  throne 
on  which  he  sits) ;  yet  it  is  generally  allowed, 
that  his  drawing  is  not  the  most  correct,  but  such 
is  his  magic  of  coloring,  that  it  is  impossible  to 
withstand  its  fascination. 

It  is  not  my  purpose  here  to  enlarge  upon  each 
particular  jewel  of  the  Dresden  gallery.  Their 
lustre,  to  be  appreciated,  must  be  seen  ;  words  are, 
after  all,  but  imperfect  translators  of  the  feelings. 
The  warmer  eloquence  of  the  eye  conveys  more 
to  the  awakened  mind,  at  a  glance,  than  do  pages 
in  the  description. 

The  next  place  that  claims  our  attention,  is  the 
jewel  office  or  Treasury,  as  it  is  called,  most  rich 
in  precious  stones,  rare  vases,  and  medallions.  The 
display  of  diamonds  is  dazzling  ;  a  green  one,  said 
to  be  unique,  struck  me  as  being  particularly  mag- 
nificent. It  was  nearly  an  inch  in  length,  and  of 
the  purest  water. 

Independent  of  the  precious  stones,  there  are 
many  other  objects  of  great  value  and  interest  to 
be  seen  in  the  various  apartments,  such  as  sculp- 
tures in  ivory,  curiously  wrought  and  richly  inlaid  ; 
many  of  them  displaying  the  quaintest  devices, 
and  a  nicety  of  workmanship  almost  surpassing 
belief.  Any  information  you  may  desire  respect- 
ing the  many  interesting  objects  that  claim  your 
attention  is  most  cheerfully  given  by  the  polite  per- 


EXHIBITION   OF   PORCELAIN.  63 

sonage  who  accompanies  yon  through  the  rooms. 
In  return  you  are  not  to  forget  him  upon  leaving. 
The  perquisites  of  offices  like  these,  in  Europe, 
are  generally  the  principal  emolument  which  is 
derived  from  them.  Another  curious  exhibition  is 
that  of  the  famous  Dresden  porcelain.  It  is  con- 
tained in  a  long  range  of  apartments,  cold  and 
damp,  constituting  the  cellars  of  a  large  palace. 
You  may  here  observe  the  rise  and  progress  of 
this  art,  from  its  rudest  state,  to  the  present  pin- 
nacle of  perfection.  As  you  stroll  through  the 
rooms,  the  Protean  ware  appears  before  you  in 
almost  every  guise,  now  bird,  now  beast ;  anon 
in  some  grotesque  figure  it  excites  a  smile  ;  again 
in  another,  those  elegant  proportions  demand  the 
tribute  of  admiration.  It  is  really  curious  to  ob- 
serve the  rich  profusion  of  this  costly  ware  lying 
almost  carelessly  at  your  feet,  each  specimen  of 
which  would  be  highly  valuable  with  us.  Indeed, 
one  cannot  fail  to  observe,  in  Dresden,  the  noble 
scale  upon  which  every  thing  public,  as  regards 
museums,  collections  of  paintings,  jewels,  &c.,  is 
conducted.  No  expense  seems  to  have  been  spared 
in  procuring  objects  worthy  at  once  the  station 
of  the  monarch  and  the  refined  taste  of  a  rich 
and  luxurious  capital. 

During  the  Saxon  campaign,  Dresden  was  the 
head-quarters  of  Napoleon.  Not  far  from  the  city 
is  the  spot  where  fell  the  most  illustrious  victim  of 
that  campaign,  General  Moreau.  The  place  is 
designated  by  a  pile  of  stones  loosely  heaped  to- 
gether.    The    circumstance    which    is    related,    in 


54  DRESDEN. 

connexion  with  his  fall,  and  was  the  cause  of  it, 
is  well  known  to  every  one  familiar  with  the  his- 
tory of  Napoleon.  The  character  of  Moreau  pre- 
sents much  to  admire  ;  he  was  an  intrepid  soldier, 
a  most  skilful  general.  The  armies  of  France  have 
seldom  marched  to  conquest  under  an  abler  com- 
mander ;  but  it  is  unfortunate  for  his  fame,  that, 
blinded  by  individual  hatred,  he  should  have  taken 
up  arms  against  his  country,  whose  glory  he  had 
once  so  gallantly  maintained.  The  environs  of 
Dresden  are  pretty  and  picturesque  ;  many  of  the 
rides  about  the  city  are  very  pleasant.  I  recollect 
one,  in  particular,  conducting  to  a  spot,  where  were 
combined  the  ingredients  of  as  pretty  a  landscape 
and  prospect  as  might  be  desired.  A  little  placid 
lake,  with  a  lofty  hill  towering  at  its  side,  richly 
covered  with  trees  and  verdure,  were  the  promi- 
nent features  of  this  fair  scene.  Along  the  hill 
were  zigzag  paths,  threading  their  devious  way  to 
its  summit ;  midway  we  arrived  at  w^hat  was  once 
a  fortress  of  strength,  now  dilapidated  and  in  ruins  ; 
its  situation  is  bold,  overlooking  the  fearful  preci- 
pice beneath.  At  present,  the  ruined  pile  serves  as 
an  excellent  point  de  vue,  and,  as  such,  repays  the 
eager  traveller  for  the  fatigue  experienced  in 
scrambling  up  the  precipitous  ascent.  1  noticed 
there  (and  it  seems  characteristic  of  the  good 
feelings  and  charity  of  the  German  people)  a  lit- 
tle receptacle  for  the  contributions  of  visiters ;  the 
receipts  to  be  appropriated  for  the  benefit  of  the 
sick  and  indigent,  as  we  learned  from  a  rude  in- 
scription,  carved  upon  a  fragment  of  rock.     This 


NEIGHBOURING  SCENERY.  65 

circumstance,  trifling  as  it  may  appear,  tended  to 
impart  additional  interest  to  the  spot ;  for  the  beau- 
ties of  nature  are  never  more  enchanting  than 
when  we  regard  them  as  developing  and  maturing, 
with  soft  influence,  the  kindlier  sensibilities  of 
mankind. 

For  miles  about  Dresden,  the  country  abounds 
in  interesting  scenery.  The  Saxon  Switzerland, 
with  its  mountains  and  valleys,  not  far  distant  from 
the  city,  offers,  to  the  lover  of  natural  scenery,  a 
banquet  rich  in  attraction.  The  inhabitants  of 
Dresden  duly  appreciate  the  romantic  character  of 
the  country  in  whicli  the  capital  lies  embosomed. 
'^Avez-vous  parcGuru  la  Sicisse  Saxe  ?  is  one  of  the 
first  questions  addressed  to  the  stranger  on  the  sub- 
ject of  curiosities.  If  you  have  not  yet  had  that 
pleasure,  you  are  told,  that  it  is  quite  impossible, 
really  Gothic,  to  quit  Dresden  without  making  the 
tour  of  that  portion  of  its  environs.  But  to  return 
from  this  agreeable  excursion  amid  the  mountains, 
and  resume  our  researches  in  the  city. 

The  style  of  architecture  in  the  Saxon  capital 
is  generally  neat  and  durable.  Of  this  the  prin- 
cipal church  furnishes  an  elegant  specimen.  Its 
spire  appeared  to  me  as  particularly  beautiful ;  a 
happy  union  of  elegance  and  strength.  The  choir 
of  this  church  is  much  celebrated.  I  was  present 
at  one  of  their  performances,  and  should  certainly 
pronounce  the  music  extremely  fine.  Yet,  not- 
withstanding its  excellence,  one  cannot  but  reflect 
with  pain  upon  the  means  that  have  been  made 
use  of  in  bringing  it  to  the  present  state  of  per- 
fection. 


66  DRESDEN. 

It  was  in  this  church  I  beheld  the  King  and 
royal  family  of  Saxony.  The  monarch  was  much 
advanced  in  years,  and  very  infirm.  He  appeared 
beloved  by  the  people,  who  looked  on  in  respectful 
silence,  as  the  cortege  moved  slowly  along.  The 
King,  supported  by  an  aid,  walked  with  faltering 
steps.  His  relatives,  ranged  on  either  side,  accom- 
panied, and  the  rear  was  brought  up  by  officers, 
guards,  &c.,  among  whom  I  remarked  several  per- 
sonages of  rank,  whose  prepossessing  figures  were 
shown  to  much  advantage  by  their  elegant  and 
well-assorted  uniforms. 

The  Elbe,  at  Dresden,  is  a  majestic  stream. 
Terraces,  raised  along  its  banks,  answer  admirably 
as  promenades,  and  overlook  its  wide  expanse. 
These  constitute  the  favorite  walk,  and  multitudes 
of  both  sexes  may  be  seen  there  congregated,  of  a 
pleasant  afternoon  and  evening.  In  addition  to  the 
charms  of  exercise  and  prospect,  there  are  not 
wanting  the  substantial  comforts  of  the  cafe  and 
restaurant,  nor  the  soft  breathings  of  music.  With 
such  concomitants,  care-worn  must  indeed  be  the 
man,  who  cannot  stroll  away  an  hour,  forgetful  of 
all  else  save  the  scene  around  him.  Each  moment, 
thus  snatched  from  the  turmoil  and  tumult  of  war- 
ring passions  or  harassing  cares,  should  be  looked 
upon  as  precious,  and  reverted  to  in  after  time  as 
a  bright  spot  in  the  varied  scene  of  existence. 

Among  the  noble  structures  of  this  city  stands 
conspicuous  its  bridge,  remarkable  alike  for  the 
beauty  and  the  solidity  of  its  masonry. 

Respecting   the    public  amusements,  I  had  not 


MORAL   CONDITION   OF  SOCIETY.  57 

the  means  of  judging  from  actual  observation  ;  it 
being  in  the  heat  of  summer  at  the  time  of  our 
visit,  the  theatres  and  concert  rooms  were  closed. 
I  have  understood,  that  Dresden  can  boast  of  an 
excellent  opera ;  there  certainly  must  be  taste  and 
wealth  enough  in  the  metropolis,  to  well  sustain 
an  amusement,  that  every  educated  German  is  so 
partial  to. 

Still  less  should  I  venture  to  pronounce  a  de- 
cided opinion,  with  regard  to  the  moral  character 
of  the  people.  From  a  residence  of  but  few  days, 
or  even  weeks,  in  a  large  and  populous  city,  one 
is  apt  to  collect  but  erroneous  and  superficial  ideas 
respecting  the  real  character  of  its  inhabitants ; 
but  it  would  seem  to  me,  in  proportion  as  you  leave 
behind  the  more  northern  districts  of  Germany, 
and  travel  southward,  a  greater  degree  of  laxity  is 
to  be  observed  in  the  cords  that  bind  society  to- 
gether. A  lower  standard  of  morals  seems  the 
criterion,  and  the  general  aspect  of  manners  and 
customs,  it  must  be  confessed,  appears  not  alto- 
gether a  tableau,  upon  which  a  sage  might  gaze 
with  unmingled  approbation. 


CHAPTER   V. 

Journey  to  Prague.  —  The  Black  Horse.  —  Objects  of  Interest  in 
Prague.  —  Battle  of  Prague.  —  The  Bridge.  —  Islands  and  Rifle 
Shootiag.  —  German  Life. —  German  and  American  Theatres. — 
German  Troops.  —  Austria  Proper  and  its  Army. 

After  passing  several  days  pleasantly  in  Dres- 
den, we  concluded  at  length  to  leave  this  fair  city. 
Frail  are  the  links  that  bind  the  traveller,  and 
broken  with  scarce  an  effort.  An  hour  or  two  and 
we  are  on  the  road  for  the  ancient  city  of  Prague. 
The  diligent,  though  not  over  speedy  Eilwagen 
rolled  on,  at  its  accustomed  pace,  while  its  inmates, 
immersed  in  retrospections,  realities,  and  anticipa- 
tions, were  fain  to  while  away  the  wearisome  hours. 
Nothing  occurred,  during  our  journey,  worthy  the 
recording.  At  length  the  ninety  miles  are  passed  ; 
the  last  intervening  hill  is  surmounted,  and,  far 
away  in  the  distance  below  you,  stretching  along 
a  vast  plain,  may  be  discerned  Bohemia's  capital, 
once  celebrated  Prague.  Upon  arriving  in  the  city, 
we  found  it  difficult  to  obtain  comfortable  lodgings. 
An  important  festival  was  about  taking  place,  and 
the  influx  of  strangers  had  been  uncommonly  great. 
After  several  unsuccessful  attempts,  we  were  com- 
pelled to  put  up  with  but  scanty  accommodations 
at  an  indifferent  hostelrie.  Here  we  lodged  for 
a  day  or  two,  then  changed  our  quarters,  taking 
apartments  at  the  Black  Horse  (Schwarze  Ross), 


OBJECTS  OF   IJNTEREST   liN   PRAGUE.  59 

accounted  the  best  hotel  in  the  place.  The  com- 
pany at  this  establishment  seemed  to  me  to  be  oi" 
a  superior  order  to  that  we  had  generally  encoun- 
tered in  German  cities.  Whether  it  be,  that  they 
were  but  temporarily  summoned  together  to  cel- 
ebrate the  occasion  (the  festival  before  alluded  to), 
or  whether  such  may  be  the  usual  appearance  of 
the  better  class  of  citizens,  I  cannot  tell.  Their 
manner  and  appearance  impressed  me  favorably. 
Anything  bustling  or  even  business-like  would  have 
appeared  to  my  eye  as  discordant  with  the  still, 
half-deserted  grandeur  of  the  ancient  city.  There 
may  be  but  little  in  Prague  to  interest  the  insatiate 
lion-hunter.  You  will  search  in  vain  for  the  man- 
ifold picture  galleries,  or  the  sculptured  marble, 
that  other  cities  boast  of;  but  to  the  traveller, 
well  nigh  surfeited,  for  the  moment,  with  the  rich 
profusion  the  arts  have  heretofore  spread  before 
him,  there  are  objects  replete  with  an  interest  of  no 
common  nature.  The  very  tranquillity  of  its  wide 
extent,  its  romantic  walks,  delightful  drives,  and 
the  agreeable  retreats  that  invite  your  steps  ;  and 
more  than  all,  the  lordly  castles,  the  time  and  war 
scathed  cathedrals,  of  almost  traditional  antiquity, 
independent  of  those  stirring  associations,  connect- 
ed with  the  very  name  of  Prague ;  —  all  these  must 
awaken  the  senses  to  no  ordinary  degree  of  pleas- 
ure. I  stood  upon  the  ground  where  was  fought 
the  memorable  battle,  more  impressed  upon  my 
mind  by  the  voice  of  music  than  that  of  history. 
It  is  the  first  piece  the  memory  of  my  early  days 
now  presents,  and  certainly  it  then  fired  my  fancy 


60  PRAGUE. 

bejond  the  power  of  forgetting.  I  marked  the 
spots  where  were  still  visible,  upon  the  walls  of 
the  ancient  cathedral,  the  effects  of  that  terrible 
cannonade.  From  the  elevation  I  had  attained, 
the  eye  embraced  a  wide  extent  of  territory,  and 
the  city  below.  An  emotion  of  thankfulness  was 
my  first  feeling,  in  that  Providence  had  at  last  con- 
ducted me  to  the  spot,  that  youthful  imagination 
and  after  reading  had  surrounded  with  so  strong 
an  interest.  The  river  Moldau  flows  through  the 
city,  separating  the  old  from  the  new  town.  The 
stream  is  wide,  though  but  shallow.  It  is  spanned 
by  one  of  the  longest,  if  not  finest  bridges  in  Eu- 
rope. This  structure  dates  from  remote  antiquity. 
It  is  built  in  a  most  substantial  manner,  and  per- 
forated with  numerous  arches.  Its  principal  cu- 
riosity, to  the  eye  of  a  foreigner,  consists  in  the 
numerous  images,  larger  than  life,  of  saints  and 
holy  personages,  that  surmount  its  sides.  In  the 
centre  of  the  bridge  is  the  figure  of  our  Saviour 
descending  from  the  cross.  While  passing  this, 
the  true  Catholic  never  fails  to  remove  his  hat. 
The  bridge  is  certainly  a  curious  and  interesting 
specimen  of  architecture,  and  recalls,  with  its  im- 
ages, the  less  tolerant  times  of  past  centuries,  when 
to  have  omitted  the  required  obeisance  to  sense- 
less stone  was  viewed  as  a  heinous  offence,  deserv- 
ing condign  punishment.  Not  far  from  the  bridge 
are  two  small  islands,  but  a  little  distance  apart, 
which  are  much  frequented  by  the  people,  for 
purposes  of  recreation  and  amusement.  Upon  one 
of  them  are  galleries  for  rifle-shooting.     Some  of 


GERMAN   LIFE.  61 

the  marksmen  seemed  quite  expert  for  amateurs ; 
though  no  doubt  they  would  have  been  looked  upon 
but  as  indifferent  shots  in  the  head-quarters  of  the 
rifle,  the  backwoods  of  the  West.  When  the  mark 
was  struck,  an  explosion  took  place,  and  a  figure 
sprang  forth,  as  if  to  attest  the  triumph ;  the  re- 
maining portion  of  the  island,  remote  from  the 
whistling  range  of  deadly  shot,  is  dedicated  to  more 
peaceful  pleasures.  The  promenade  with  its  grace- 
ful accompaniment  of  waving  trees  is  there,  and 
there  also  are  cafes;  while,  during  the  fine  season, 
tables  and  seats  are  everywhere  provided,  and 
cherry-cheeked  maids  are  in  waiting,  prompt  to 
obey  your  call  for  the  refreshing  lemonade  or  ice. 
Here  you  may  sit  down,  with  none  to  disturb  you, 
and  sip  the  sweets  of  solitude,  if  such  be  your  hu- 
mor, even  in  the  midst  of  the  gay  scene.  A  band 
of  music,  playing  the  favorite  airs  of  the  German 
school,  enliven  you  with  their  soft  strains.  Upon 
the  whole,  it  was  an  excellent  picture  of  German 
felicity,  embracing  the  three  standard  ingredients 
in  profusion,  viz.  beer,  pipes,  and  music. 

For  one,  I  was  enchanted  with  the  rural  air  (the 
"  rus  in  urbe  "  of  the  luxurious  Roman),  which  so 
prevailed.  Of  a  fine  morning  our  carriage  was  in 
requisition,  and  a  drive  about  the  picturesque  envi- 
rons served  most  agreeably  to  beguile  the  hours, 
while,  from  the  sultriness  of  noon  and  its  attendant 
ennui,  we  experienced  a  pleasant  exemption  amid 
the  shaded  walks  of  the  pleasure  grounds  I  have 
attempted  to  describe,  and  the  gay  concourse  that 
thither  resorted  on  the  same  errand  with  ourselves. 


62  PRAGUE. 

Certes,  the  Germans  are  not  unphilosophical  in 
their  amusements,  whatever  the  costly  Englishman, 
or  his  volatile  neighbour  across  the  Channel,  may 
think  to  the  contrary.  Any  one,  who  has  remark- 
ed them  in  their  leisure  hours  indulging  in  the 
luxuries  of  the  delicate  meerschaum  and  best  Turk- 
ish, with  an  ample  mug  of  the  true  Bavarian  on 
the  table  beside,  their  feelings  in  unison  with  the 
dulcet  strains  of  music  that  pervade  the  air,  must 
confess  that  here  is  the  very  quintessence  of  nega- 
tive happiness. 

In  connexion  with  the  subject  of  amusements  in 
Germany,  I  must  observe,  that  upon  one  head  the 
inhabitants  have  just  reason  to  be  proud.  I  al- 
lude to  their  public  promenades  and  gardens,  in 
which  no  other  European  nation  surpasses,  or  per- 
haps equals  them.  From  the  picturesque  boule- 
vards of  the  smaller  cities  to  the  Volks-Garten 
and  Prater  of  Imperial  Vienna,  there  is  everywhere 
taste  and  elegance.  The  extreme  utility  that  at- 
tractive resorts  of  this  nature  must  be  of  to  a  peo- 
ple, whose  sedentary  and  studious  character  might 
otherwise  have  induced  them  to  neglect  the  neces- 
sary exercise  for  health,  seems  early  to  have  en- 
grossed the  attention  of  the  Germans ;  and  their 
proverbial  industry  has  been  as  happily  exempli- 
fied in  this  channel  as  in  that  of  their  literary  la- 
bors, and  indefatigable  pursuits  for  the  supposed 
hidden  gems  of  science. 

I  attended  the  theatre,  and  was  fortunate  in  wit- 
nessing the  representation  of  a  favorite  opera,  "Mas- 
saniello."     The  music  of  the  piece  was  given  with 


GERMAN   AND   AMERICAN   THEATRES.  QS 

excellent  effect ;  the  audience  were  delighted,  and 
testified  their  satisfaction  by  the  noisiest  acclama- 
tions. Every  favorite  morceau  was  repeated  again 
and  again,  and  still  they  seemed  scarcely  satisfied* 
At  the  conclusion,  the  performers  must  have  been 
most  heartily  wearied  of  the  hruijant  applause  with 
which  a  grateful  public  crowned  their  efforts.  How- 
ever, to  us  the  piece,  with  all  its  repetitions,  was  quite 
a  treat,  being  the  first  opera  we  had  attended  since 
leaving  Berlin.  The  orchestral  music  in  Germany 
is  very  rarely  other  than  good.  Each  performer 
is  content  with  the  part  allotted  to  him,  and  the 
aim  of  every  individual  is  to  do  all  in  his  power  to 
make  the  ensemble  as  perfect  as  possible.  It  is  not 
the  ambition  there,  as  with  us,  to  shine  in  a  solo, 
often  to  the  prejudice  of  the  general  effect.  We 
carry  our  national  republican  feelings  into  our 
very  theatres  ;  no  performer  appears  satisfied  with 
his  own  portion,  unless,  forsooth,  it  be  the  highest, 
but  is  ever  ambitious  to  rise  beyond  his  individual 
sphere,  whether  adequate  or  not.  For  this  reason, 
in  no  small  degree,  our  theatrical  representations, 
whether  of  a  musical  or  other  nature,  are  generally 
much  inferior  to  those  we  see  in  Europe,  where, 
even  should  there  not  be  present  any  "  star  "  of 
superior  magnitude,  each  role  is  so  happily  sus- 
tained, with  a  view  to  the  success  of  the  piece,  not 
the  celebrity  of  the  player,  that,  what  were  other- 
wise but  a  faint,  spiritless  illusion,  now  steals  over 
the  excited  fancy  with  all  the  force  of  vivid,  absorb- 
ing reality ;  leaving  the  spectator  in  the  situation  of 
one  just  awakened  from  a  dream,  doubting  awhile 
which  the  truth,  which  the  illusion. 


64  PRAGUE. 

During  my  residence  in  the  Imperial  dominions, 
I  nowhere  witnessed  a  finer  display  of  soldiery 
than  at  Prague.  The  occasion  to  which  I  partic- 
ularly refer,  resulted  from  the  following  circum- 
stance. Upon  the  day  subsequent  to  our  arrival  in 
the  Bohemian  capital,  a  general  officer  of  high  rank 
was  thrown  from  his  horse  and  instantly  killed. 
He  was  buried  with  military  honors,  a  little  without 
the  city ;  and  all  the  troops  in  the  garrison  were 
marshalled  to  escort  the  dead  soldier  to  his  last 
home.  I  could  not  but  admire  the  appearance  of 
the  several  corps.  In  their  excellent  training,  and 
tall,  athletic  figures,  you  beheld  the  surest  physical 
promise  of  success  ;  while  their  bronzed  and  rug- 
ged countenances  seemed  but  ill  fitted  to  mirror 
the  image  of  Fear.  There  was  one  peculiarity  I 
observed  in  the  appearance  of  these  troops,  con- 
nected with  the  military  appendage  to  the  upper 
lip,  that  Continental  soldiers  delight  in.  Instead 
of  wearing  the  moustache  fiercely  twisted  upward 
toward  the  eye,  as  in  Prussia,  or  allowing  it  to 
descend  in  rich  profusion  over  the  mouth,  as  is 
common  among  the  French  soldiery,  these  gen- 
try wore  it  not  only  perfectly  black  but  rigid, 
seemingly  as  though  of  iron.  By  means  of  a  cer- 
tain composition,  that  gives  it  both  color  and  cohe- 
sion, they  train  the  moustache  in  such  a  manner 
as  to  make  it  form  a  right  angle  with  the  line  of 
the  nose,  and  protrude  several  inches,  in  a  straight 
line,  from  either  cheek ;  so  that  a  person  walking 
directly  behind  can  plainly  discern  the  fierce  and 
pointed    extremities.       This    custom,    besides    the 


AUSTRIA   PROPER   AND   ITS   ARMY.  65 

convenience  of  the  thing,  certainly  communicates 
to  the  wearer  a  very  ferocious  appearance,  which 
might  tell  favorably  upon  the  field  of  battle. 

Austria  undoubtedly  possesses  a  well-organized 
and  efficient,  as  well  as  numerous  army.  Let  the 
reader  glance  for  a  moment  at  her  position  in  the 
great  Continental  family,  and  the  necessity  of  such 
warlike  precaution  will  be  on  the  instant  apparent. 

Austria  Proper  is  but  a  small  territory,  contain- 
ing a  population  not  exceeding  that  of  Holland. 
Within  its  limits  it  embraces  but  one  large  city, 
the  capital,  Vienna.  The  original  Arch-Duchy, 
through  matrimonial  alliance,  wily  diplomacy,  and 
open  invasion,  has  now  covered  with  its  eagles  the 
vast  tracts  of  Bohemia  and  Hungary,  and  the  ex- 
tended plains  of  Northern  Italy.  To  keep  these 
overgrown  possessions  in  due  subjection  requires 
all  the  military  force  the  nation  can  maintain,  and 
that,  too,  directed  by  the  most  keen-sighted  pol- 
icy ;  and  such,  upon  investigation,  we  discover  it. 
The  Austrians  are  all  soldiers  ;  with  them  the  army 
is  the  high  road  to  advancement. 

The  Cabinet  of  Vienna  is  the  craftiest  and  most 
Argus-eyed  in  Europe.  Its  head  and  hand,  he  who 
is  nominally  Prime  Minister,  but  in  reality  the 
Emperor  of  Austria,  is.  Prince  Talleyrand  alone 
excepted,  by  far  the  most  skilful  and  adroit  diplo- 
matist Europe  has  witnessed  since  the  days  of  Wil- 
liam Pitt.  But  adieu  to  the  Machiavelli  of  Aus- 
trian politics  and  his  machinations,  and  once  more 
to  our  humble  self. 
9 


CHAPTER   VI. 

Jouruey  to  Vienna.  —  The  Archduke  Charles  Hotel.  —  Imperial  Li- 
brary.—  Public  Rooms.  —  Church  of  St.  Stephen's.  —  The  Hearts 
of  the  Imperial  Family.  —  Palaces.  —  Maria  Theresa.  —  Schoen- 
brunn.  —  Arsenal  at  Vienna,  —  Promenades.  —  National  Traits  of 
Character.  —  Music.  —  Strauss.  —  Baden.  —  The  Archduke  Charles. 
—  Presburg.  —  The  Virtue  of  Primitive  Simplicity.  —  Pesth.  —  The 
Hungarians. —  Scene  at  the  Jager-horn.  —  Wagon  Ride  to  Vienna. 

After  a  week's  stay  in  Prague,  we  determined 
to  put  ourselves  again  en  route  for  Vienna ;  but 
first  there  was  one  knotty  point  to  be  debated. 
What  were  the  best  maniere  de  voyager  to  adopt  ? 
The  distance  between  the  two  cities  is  two  hun- 
dred and  forty  English  miles,  rather  long,  particu- 
larly if  you  are  to  accomplish  it  by  the  usual  con- 
veyance. We  hesitated  some  time  between  the 
style  and  independence  of  one's  own  carriage  and 
post-horses,  and  the  sundry  advantages  incidental 
to  our  old,  tried  friend,  the  Eilwagen.  At  last  the 
more  homely  virtues  of  the  latter  prevailed.  Our 
ignorance  of  the  language  and  customs,  and  the 
consequent  anticipated  trouble  with  postilions  at 
each  post,  were  obstacles  too  great  to  be  passed 
over.  The  journey  to  Vienna  was  accomplished  in 
thirty-six  hours.  How  vividly  I  can  even  now  recall 
my  impressions,  as  I  caught  the  first  glimpse  of 
its  distant  spires.  One  of  our  German  fellow- 
travellers  extended  his  arm  toward  the  great  city, 


JOURNEY  TO  VIENNA.  67 

as  its  view  first  opened  to  the  eye,  and  exclaimed 
with  exultation,  Das  ist  Wien.  Indeed,  it  appears 
to  me,  that  the  Austrian  subjects  have  a  feeling 
with  regard  to  Vienna,  similar  to  that  which  erst 
felt  the  proud  Roman,  as  he  gazed,  with  swelling 
heart,  upon  his  own  lordly  capital.  Vienna  is  now 
what  once  Rome  was,  the  city  of  the  Caesars ;  but 
the  title  alone  can  she  arrogate  to  herself,  not  the 
power.  The  Imperial  eagles  have  too  often  stoop- 
ed before  the  tricolor  of  France  ;  and  Napoleon  has 
destroyed  all  their  boastful  claims  to  invincibility. 
At  length,  having  passed  the  extensive  suburb,  we 
entered  the  city  proper,  where,  the  necessary  busi- 
ness of  passports  being  duly  attended  to,  we  drove 
to  the  Archduke  Charles,  an  establishment  which 
offers  to  the  visiter  the  best  of  accommodations. 
Indeed,  I  can  recall  no  hotel  in  Germany  where 
the  traveller  is  so  well  served,  and  politely  attend- 
ed to  as  in  this.  The  salle  a  manger,  with  its  in- 
tricate carte,  from  which  you  are  so  puzzled  to 
select,  brings  the  Parisian  restaurants  to  mind. 
The  apartments  are  ample  and  well  furnished,  and 
last,  not  least,  the  garcons  are  sufficiently  accom- 
plished to  comprehend  your  wishes,  even  when 
expressed  in  French  ;  a  most  decided  convenience, 
as  every  voyageur  will  readily  admit,  provided  he 
be  so  fortunate  as  to  understand  it  himself. 

To  enter  into  a  detailed  account  of  all  the  curi- 
osities here  to  be  seen,  would  be  to  indite  a  mass 
of  prolixities.  With  regard  to  these,  in  books  writ- 
ten professedly  for  the  purpose,  are  to  be  found 
the  most  complete  inventories.    Under  the  guidance 


68  VIENNA. 

of  a  domestique  de  place,  with  the  useful  work  of 
Madame  Stark  in  hand,  we  traversed  and  retrav- 
ersed  the  city,  visiting  every  thing  in  turn.  The 
Imperial  Library  is  a  splendid  edifice,  and  its  interior 
arrangements  are  admirable.  The  noble  height  of 
the  spacious  hall,  and  its  many  thousand  tomes, 
which  the  eye  embraces  as  it  were  at  a  glance, 
produce  an  effect,  which  I  do  not  recollect  to  have 
observed  in  any  similar  establishment.  Ordinarily, 
in  these  extensive  receptacles  of  science,  the  gen- 
eral effect  is  greatly  impaired  by  a  constant  recur- 
rence of  petty  alcoves,  or  there  is  a  deficiency  as 
it  regards  height,  which  is  the  case  with  many 
rooms  in  the  Vatican.  This  last,  with  the  Bihli- 
otheque  Royale  at  Paris,  and  the  one  we  are  at- 
tempting to  describe,  are  no  doubt  the  best  en- 
dowed libraries  in  Christendom ;  but,  for  classic 
appearance,  and  a  happy  union  of  taste  and  ele- 
gance in  the  general  arrangement,  I  think  the  one 
at  Vienna  surpasses  them  both. 

The  rooms,  where  are  exhibited  the  regalia, 
precious  stones,  robes  of  state,  &c.,  are  exceed- 
ingly rich,  absolutely  refulgent  with  their  costly 
contents.  Here  may  you  see  diamonds  of  uncom- 
mon magnitude  and  the  purest  water;  rubies  of 
inestimable  value  sparkle  around  you.  In  the  glass 
cases,  you  observe  the  insignia  of  the  order  of  the 
Golden  Fleece,  composed  of  diamonds,  arranged 
with  beautiful  workmanship.  Passing  on  to  anoth- 
er room,  you  behold  the  velvet  robes  of  state,  of 
divers  colors,  glittering  with  gold  and  silver.  Here, 
too,  is  the  sceptre,  with  its  accompanying  badges 


CHURCH   OF   ST.  STEPHEN'S.  69 

of  command.  You  may  view  all,  to  your  heart's 
content,  but  nothing  touch.  The  conductor  re- 
mains ever  near,  to  see  that  no  such  mistake  oc- 
curs, and  busies  himself  in  telling  a  long  story 
respecting  the  objects  before  you,  which,  being  in 
German,  added  nought  to  our  previously  acquired 
stock  of  wisdom.  I  should  have  mentioned,  that 
there  are  also  sundry  other  apartments,  containing 
sculptures  in  ivory,  ingeniously  wrought,  rare  gob- 
lets, vases,  and  specimens  of  virtu.  The  eye  is 
well  nigh  dazzled  by  the  brilliancy  of  the  exhibi- 
tion. You  cannot  quit  these  apartments,  without 
a  kindly  feeling  towards  a  government,  which  thus 
throws  open  its  magnificent  collections  to  the  stran- 
ger, free  from  all  expense  or  trouble. 

The  churches  in  Vienna,  generally  speaking,  can 
boast  of  nothing  striking,  whether  in  architecture 
or  decoration.  That  of  St.  Stephen's,  however, 
may  be  instanced  as  a  noble  exception.  It  is  a 
magnificent  relic  of  the  old  massive,  Gothic  archi- 
tecture, seemingly  durable  as  old  Time  himself, 
whose  attacks  it  has  so  long  defied.  The  whole 
appearance  of  the  edifice  is  highly  imposing ;  the 
lofty  tower  rears  itself  to  a  giddy  height,  unsur- 
passed by  any  in  Europe,  save,  perhaps,  that  of  the 
far-famed  Cathedral  at  Strasburg.  There  is  some- 
thing singular  in  the  appearance  of  this  spire,  as 
you  survey  it  in  the  distance.  A  very  decided  va- 
riation from  the  perpendicular  is  noticed,  increasing 
with  the  altitude.  You  experience,  on  this  ac- 
count, as  when  surveying  the  celebrated  Campanile 
at  Pisa,  a  feeling  of  wonder,  that  it  has  been  able 


70  VIENNA. 

to  resist  for  centuries  the  rude  shocks  of  infuriate 
tempests. 

Besides  this  venerable  pile,  there  are  other 
churches,  interesting  from  the  relics  therein  pre- 
served. In  one,  or  rather  the  vault  beneath  it,  are 
contained  in  vases,  preserved  by  certain  prepara- 
tions, the  hearts  of  all  the  imperial  family  of  Aus- 
tria. The  vases,  differing  much  in  size  and  work- 
manship, are  ranged  around  in  a  semicircular  form. 
You  are  not  permitted  to  enter  the  room  where 
they  are  ;  but,  by  applying  your  eye  to  an  aperture 
made  in  the  wall  for  such  purpose,  a  distinct  view 
of  the  whole  is  commanded.  An  array  of  hearts  ! 
The  scene  was  extraordinary  and  impressive.  The 
largest  urn  contains  her  heart,  who  ruled  as  Aus- 
tria's most  stately  Empress,  Maria  Theresa ;  and 
the  smallest  one,  that  which  once  beat  in  the  bosom 
of  the  unfortunate  Due  de  Reichstadt.  From  such 
a  spectacle  may  indeed  be  culled  a  salutary  moral 
respecting  the  intrinsic  worth  of  human  greatness. 

The  palaces  in  Vienna  are  open  to  the  stranger ; 
they  contain  much  to  gratify  the  curiosity  and  im- 
prove the  taste,  in  the  sister  arts  of  painting  and 
sculpture,  not  to  mention  the  richness  of  decoration 
and  those  costly  designs,  that  attest  the  magnifi- 
cence of  the  royal  possessors.  There  were  in  the 
imperial  palace  two  apartments,  which  more  partic- 
ularly than  the  rest  attracted  my  attention,  not  from 
the  splendor  of  their  furnishing,  but  rather  from 
those  innumerable  thoughts  and  associations,  that 
flood  the  mind,  as  we  gaze  upon  aught  intimately 
connected  with  the  familiar  story  of  past  greatness. 


SCHOENBRUNN.  71 

These  apartments  Avere  the  favorite  ones  of  Maria 
Theresa;  here  they  were  still,  as  she  had  left  them. 
Even  this  was  the  bed,  with  its  gorgeous  drapery, 
upon  which  she  had  oft  reclined  in  sleep.  All  was 
as  left  by  her ;  for,  such  is  the  veneration  of  the 
Austrians  for  their  great  Empress,  similar  to  the 
feeling  the  Prussians  entertain  for  Frederic  the 
Second,  that  they  are  unwilling  to  disturb  any 
thing,  which  may  be  looked  upon  as  bearing  the 
distinct  impress  of  her  august  presence.  And,  in- 
deed, it  is  no  subject  of  wonder,  that  her  memory 
is  held  in  such  regard  among  the  people,  when  we 
reflect  upon  the  high  rank  Austria  attained  among 
the  nations  of  Europe,  during  the  lengthened  period 
of  her  wise  administration. 

The  palace  of  Schoenbrunn,  situated  at  a  short 
distance  from  the  capital,  is  also  deserving  of  no- 
tice. Its  architecture  is  of  that  light,  airy  nature, 
which  pleases  the  eye ;  and  the  grounds  about  the 
Chateau  are  laid  out  in  a  manner  at  once  tasteful 
and  ingenious.  Upon  an  elevated  site,  not  far 
from  the  palace,  stands  an  ornamental  building, 
after  the  nature  of  a  summer-house,  but  upon  a 
princely  scale.  From  the  top  of  this  edifice,  a 
splendid  view  of  the  surrounding  country  may  be 
enjoyed.  After  roaming  about  these  pleasant 
grounds  for  an  hour  or  tvvo,  we  returned  to  Vienna. 
The  Chateau  of  Schoenbrunn,  at  that  time,  was 
denied  to  visiters,  so  that  we  were  compelled  to 
forego  the  satisfaction  of  beholding  apartments, 
which  were  often  honored  by  the  presence  of  Na- 
poleon, during  his  memorable  campaigns,  and  also 


72  VIENNA. 

served  for  many  years  as  ihe  residence  of  his  un- 
fortunate son. 

Among  the  edifices  of  Vienna  few  more  engross 
the  visiter's  attention  than  its  Arsenal,  one  of  the 
most  complete  in  Europe.  In  the  court  or  area, 
is  to  be  seen  a  ponderous  chain,  of  great  length, 
made  use  of  by  the  Turks,  during  their  siege  of 
the  city,  for  obstructing  the  navigation  of  the  Dan- 
ube. In  the  long  train  of  apartments  within,  you 
behold  arms  of  every  description,  from  the  rude 
weapons  of  remote  antiquity,  down  to  the  costly 
implements  and  scientific  engines,  with  which  mod- 
ern warfare  transacts  her  sanguinary  trade.  These 
are  fantastically  arranged  along  the  sides  and  ceil- 
ing, producing  a  singular  and  not  inelegant  effect. 
Among  the  more  remarkable  features  of  the  Aus- 
trian capital  must  be  particularly  distinguished  its 
public  promenades  and  gardens.  Of  these  the 
Prater  is  the  most  spacious  and  frequented.  This 
extensive  pleasure-ground  has  been  much  cele- 
brated by  travellers,  and  its  very  name  seems  iden- 
tified with  that  of  the  city.  I  must  allow,  that 
I  was  somewhat  disappointed  at  first  sight ;  my 
expectations  were  not  a  little  raised  ;  and,  when  I 
did  at  length  behold  it,  it  was  under  unfavorable 
circumstances.  At  that  time,  in  the  heat  of  sum- 
mer, this  noble  promenade  was  shorn  of  all  those 
attractions,  to  be  derived  only  from  that  migratory 
class,  the  beau  monde.  No  brilliant  equipages,  no 
well-dressed  pedestrians  were  present,  to  give  life 
to  the  scene  ;  in  a  word,  it  was  not  then  a  fash- 
ionable resort.     Doubtless  of  a  pleasant  eve  pen- 


NATIONAL  TRAITS  OF  CHARACTER.  73 

dant  la  belle  saison,  when  thronged  by  the  gnv, 
its  noble  avenues  and  spreading  trees  illuminated 
by  the  glare  of  fire  works,  while  the  charms  of 
music  add  to  the  festivity,  the  Prater  must  be  a 
spot  of  no  common  beauty  and  attraction.  This 
fairy  domain  is  embraced  on  every  side  by  tiie 
extended  arms  of  the  majestic  Danube,  seemiufily 
in  fond  dalliance,  as  he  rolls  onward  his  turbid 
waters  to  their  far  distant  destination. 

There  is  yet  another  pleasure-ground,  which,  at 
the  time  of  my  visit,  presented  a  far  more  gay  and 
joyous  appearance  ;  it  is  called  the  Volks-Garten, 
in  plain  English,  the  People's  Garden.  I  remem- 
ber, one  fine  evening  I  repaired  to  this  garden  in 
company  with  my  friends  ;  its  numerous  walks  and 
grassy  plats  were  absolutely  thronged  by  the  happy 
concourse,  attracted  mostly  by  the  promise  of  fire 
works,  which  were  to  conclude  the  evening's  amuse- 
ment. We  threaded  the  devious  paths,  marking, 
with  all  the  curiosity  of  foreigners,  the  peculiarities 
of  costume,  physiognomy,  and  manners,  that  so 
combine  to  affix  its  distinct  individuality  to  every 
national  assemblage.  There  is,  perhaps,  no  occasion 
more  favorable  for  observing  the  temperament  of 
a  people,  than  such  an  one  as  this  I  refer  to.  Care, 
for  a  while,  receives  his  conge.  Chilling  reserve 
and  formal  punctilio  are  also  banished.  A  certain 
degree  of  laisser  aller  throws  a  charm  over  the 
scene.  In  France  the  national  volatility  and  wild 
exuberance  of  spirits  on  such  occasions  are  not  to 
be  restrained  ;  they  burst  forth  into  a  thousand 
fantastic  freaks  and  gambols  (I  allude,  of  course, 
10 


74  VIENNA. 

to  what  are  termed  the  middling  classes  of  society). 
Here  in  Germany,  you  perceive  enough  to  convince 
you,  that  the  true  character  of  the  people  is  serious 
and  sentimental.  Though  they  may  fly  to  pleasure, 
as  a  fancied  medicine  for  the  ills  of  life,  they  seldom 
give  way  to  that  spontaneous  gaiete  du  cceur,  which 
requires  no  support  from  adventitious  excitement. 
In  a  word,  in  the  midst  of  their  pleasures,  you 
discern,  set  in  strongest  contrast,  the  characters 
and  tastes  of  either  nation,  of  the  bold,  mercurial, 
reckless  sons  of  France,  and  the  hardy,  philosophic, 
enduring  offspring  of  Germany. 

The  Viennese,  in  common  with  all  Germans,  are 
passionately  fond  of  music,  instrumental  music 
more  particularly.  It  finds  its  way  everywhere. 
There  can  be  no  Joyous  assemblage  without  it.  It 
is  customary,  during  the  fine  season,  for  those  who 
can  afford  the  luxury,  to  repair  at  early  eve  to  the 
gardens  and  restaurants,  where,  in  the  open  air  and 
spacious  saloons,  are  set  numerous  tables.  At  one 
extremity  of  the  large  hall,  always  found  in  restau- 
rants of  this  description,  is  a  band  of  music,  dis- 
posed as  in  an  orchestra,  who  regale  the  feasters 
with  the  more  ethereal  aliment  of  sweet  sounds. 
I  have  heard  Strauss,  a  great  favorite  with  the 
Vienna  public,  play  his  lively  waltzes  again  and 
again,  on  occasions  like  these.  The  question  was 
often  asked,  "  Is  Strauss  to  play  at  such  a  garden 
to-night  ?  "  and,  if  so,  the  maitre  de  restaurant  was 
sure  to  reap  a  rich  harvest. 

The  stranger  should  not  omit  visiting  Baden,  a 
watering-place,    distant    about    twenty  miles  from 


BADEN.  76 

the  Austrian  capital.  This  is  a  place  of  great  re- 
sort during  the  heat  of  summer  ;  the  waters,  which 
are  held  in  high  estimation,  are  so  strongly  impreg- 
nated with  sulphur,  that  I  found  it  an  affair  of  no 
small  difficulty  to  swallow  a  single  glass.  The 
imperial  family  usually  pass  a  few  weeks  in  Baden 
every  season.  The  Archduke  Charles  has  here  a 
handsome  maison  cle  campagne.  The  road  lead- 
ing to  his  palace,  and  extending  beyond  it,  is  of 
a  romantic  nature,  conducting  to  a  valley  replete 
with  charms  for  a  lover  of  the  picturesque.  We 
did  not  see  the  Archduke  here,  where  he  passes 
the  greater  portion  of  his  time,  nor  at  Vienna ;  a 
circumstance  I  regretted,  for,  if  we  except  Met- 
ternich,  no  personage  in  the  Austrian  dominions 
enjoys  an  equal  celebrity ;  and,  even  while  we 
award  its  just  meed  of  applause  to  the  adroit 
scheming  of  the  wily  diplomatist,  our  feelings  of 
admiration  and  good-will  are  enlisted  on  the  side 
of  the  gallant  soldier  and  the  honest  man. 

There  is  also  at  Baden  a  park,  in  which  the 
habitues  promenade,  to  see  and  be  seen.  Apart 
from  these,  there  is  but  little  to  interest  or  amuse. 
A  few  hours  are  sufficient  to  initiate  you  into  all 
the  mysteries  of  the  place,  and  leave  you  well  sat- 
isfied to  whirl  back  along  the  dusty  road  to  Vi- 
enna. 

We  were  unwilling  to  quit  the  Austrian  domin- 
ions, without  making  an  expedition  into  Hungary, 
and  catchinjj;  at  least  a  bird's-eye  view  of  that  prim- 
itive country.  Accordingly,  one  fine  day  in  July, 
having  arranged  for  a  voiture  to  convey  us  to  Pres- 


76  PRESBURG. 

burg,  we  set  out  upon  our  tour.  The  distance  from 
Vienna  to  Presburg  is  rather  less  than  forty  Eng- 
lish miles.  The  road  is  sufficiently  good,  and,  at 
the  usual  rapid  rate  of  travelling,  not  much  time 
is  consumed  in  the  trajet.  The  Danube  rolls  ma- 
jestically on,  at  intervals  but  a  iew  paces  from  your 
route.  It  is  certainly  a  beautiful  sight,  as  you  ride 
along  the  lofty  and  precipitous  bank,  to  mark  the 
noble  stream  below,  as  it  expands  into  broad  bays, 
or  circles,  with  rapid  current,  around  the  numerous 
islets  that  stud  its  wide  and  sheeny  surface.  Gilded 
as  were  now  its  rippling  eddies,  by  the  rays  of  a 
setting  sun,  that  bathed  no  fairer  landscape  in  the 
warm  flood  of  its  descending  splendor,  it  formed 
a  scene,  such  as  the  glad  eye  could  not  weary  in 
gazing  upon.  As  the  dusk  of  eve  was  throwing 
its  obscuring  mantle  over  this  fair  scene,  we  had 
reached  the  ancient  capital  of  once  unfettered  Hun- 
gary. Our  stay  at  Presburg  was  but  brief,  af- 
fording, however,  sufficient  time  to  visit  its  princi- 
pal curiosities.  A  portion  of  the  town  is  com- 
mandingly  situated  on  a  lofty  eminence,  the  brow 
of  which  is  surmounted  by  the  ruins  of  a  once 
strong  castle.  The  fatigue  of  scaling  the  hill  to 
this  point  is  well  compensated  to  the  traveller, 
by  the  enjoyment  of  a  beautiful  prospect,  which 
there  greets  his  eye ;  the  mighty  Danube  rolls 
below,  now  swelled  to  a  noble  width  and  volume 
by  the  confluence  of  its  several  branches.  De- 
scending to  the  town,  and  passing  through  its  va- 
rious streets,  you  find  but  little  to  reward  investi- 
gation ;   in  fact,  I  think  there  can  be  no  one,  who 


THE   VIRTUE   OF   PRIMITIVE   SIMPLICITV.  77 

has  formed  an  idea  of  Hungary  from  what  he  has 
read,  but  will  be  disappointed  when  that  previously 
formed  notion  is  submitted  to  the  touchstone  of  an 
actual  tour  tlirough  the  country.  There  is  something 
captivating  in  the  conceptions  we  had  formed  of 
the  fiery  valor  of  that  noblesse,  who  once  rescued 
Europe  from  the  Tmk,  and  of  the  well  nigh  prim- 
itive simplicity,  and  freedom  from  the  artificial 
restraints  and  deceptions  of  what  is  termed  refined 
society,  that  has  been  said  to  characterize  the 
Hungarians.  Upon  a  nearer  view,  you  perceive, 
that  simplicity  of  manners  is  often  but  another 
name  for  debasing  ignorance,  and  that  virtue  itself 
derives  its  very  jEgis  from  the  conventional  re- 
straints that  society  imposes.  It  is  a  most  mis- 
taken opinion,  that  a  people  of  simple  habits  and 
manners  must  perforce  be  virtuous.  The  Swiss 
might  be  instanced  as  another  proof  of  the  validity 
of  my  assertion  ;  and  I  have  not  a  doubt,  that, 
where  civilization  is  at  its  acme,  in  Great  Britain 
for  example,  there  is  infinitely  more  virtue  than  in 
all  Europe  beside. 

After  passing  a  day  in  Presburg,  we  took  pas- 
sage on  board  the  steam-boat  for  Pesth,  distant 
about  one  hundred  miles.  Our  boat  quitted  her 
moorings  at  six,  A.  M.,  and  completed  her  trip  in 
ten  hours.  The  river  expands  to  a  magnificent 
width  as  you  approach  the  capital,  but  its  banks 
below  Presburg  rather  disappoint  you.  I  looked 
in  vain  for  the  lofty  hills  and  picturesque  campagne, 
which  I  had  fancied  formed  so  striking  a  feature  in 
Hungarian  scenery;  for  miles  the  eye  wanders  over 


78  PESTH. 

naught  but  an  uninterrupted  and  unvarying  level. 
Arrived  at  length  at  Peslh,  jou  are  gratified  by  an 
agreeable  change  of  the  scene,  both  as  respects 
ture    and    art.     A   bridge  connects   the   cities  of 


na 


'b 


Pesth  and  Buda  or  Ofen.  On  the  left  bank  there 
is  a  long  reach  of  country,  flat  and  undiversified ; 
but  upon  the  Buda  side  con:nnences,  almost  from 
the  water's  edge,  a  bold  eminence,  on  the  summit 
of  which  stands  the  royal  palace  of  Hungary's 
once  sovereign  kings.  At  present,  it  is  inhabited 
a  part  of  the  year  by  the  Austrian  Viceroy.  It  is 
a  curious  edifice,  and  well  worth  the  visiting. 
The  apartments  generally  are  very  handsome,  with 
tasteful  decorations  of  wall  and  ceiling,  though  one 
sees  with  regret,  that  they  are  divested  of  the 
costly  furniture,  that  must  formerly  have  belonged 
to  them.  The  situation  of  this  ancient  chateau  is 
most  splendid,  crowning,  as  it  does,  an  eminence 
that  commands  the  adjacent  country  for  many 
miles.  The  Euphrates  of  Germany,  at  your  feet, 
is  hurrying  its  rapid  way  to  the  Euxine  ;  opposite 
stands  the  fair  city  of  Pesth,  with  its  handsome 
modern  edifices  and  busy  quais.  The  spectacle 
is  of  a  nature  that  one  loves  to  linger  over.  When 
the  brilliant  beams  of  the  setting  sun  throw  their 
last  gorgeous  tints  upon  the  stately  walls,  or  the 
mellow  glow  of  twilight  adds  its  pensive  and  soft- 
ening influence,  there  is  something  of  enchantment 
in  the  scene.  Who,  that  has  a  soul,  can  stand 
without  emotion  upon  a  ground  like  this,  which 
once,  it  may  be  supposed,  resounded  to  the  firm 
tread  of  Hungary's   armed  legions,  as,   marshalled 


THE   HUMGARIANS.  79 

under  the  eye  of  their  royal  leader,  they  prepared, 
like  the  heroes  of  Theniiopylce,  to  resist  even  unto 
the  death,  —  to  turn  back  the  furious  onset  of  the 
insulting  Turk,  or  perish  in  the  attempt. 

It  is  when  associations  like  these  steal  over  the 
mind,  that  this  once  powerful  country  throws  off 
her  debasing  disguise.  She  is  no  longer  the  crouch- 
ing dependant  of  imperial  Austria.  No  ;  she  stands 
forth  again  the  impregnable  bulwark  of  the  reli- 
gious faith,  the  liberties,  of  Christendom. 

Alas,  it  is  melancholy  to  reflect  upon  the  rapid 
deterioration  a  nation  undergoes,  when  stripped  of 
those  inestimable  blessings,  civil  and  religious  lib- 
erty. The  Hungarians,  once  so  proud,  are  now, 
as  a  mass,  spiritless,  uneducated,  and  politically 
degraded.  It  is  true  a  spark  of  the  fire,  that  ani- 
mated his  ancestors,  may  glow  in  the  bosom  of  the 
noble,  while  he  muses  over  their  deeds  of  valor 
and  patriotism,  as  embalmed  in  the  historic  pajie  ; 
but,  if  so  it  be,  policy  forbids  its  developement. 
The  jealous  eye  of  Metternich,  ever  watchful 
to  detect,  and  his  far-reaching  arm,  equally  sure 
to  punish,  forbid  the  hazardous  experiment.  The 
iron  sceptre  of  Austria  has  bitterly  humbled  the 
nation  ;  but  may  we  not  hope  she  will  yet  emerge 
from  her  darkness,  and,  in  the  face  of  ungrateful 
Europe,  again  assert  and  maintain  her  rightful  pre- 
rogative ? 

We  are  at  length  in  the  fair  city  of  Pesth.  Its 
buildings,  as  I  have  before  observed,  are  of  a  hand- 
some, modern  style  of  architecture.  Those  you 
first  behold,    which    front    upon    the   river,    make 


80  PESTH. 

really  an  elegant  appearance.  They  are  composed 
of  a  very  light-colored  stone,  erected  with  much 
regidarity  ;  and,  at  a  distance,  the  whole  resembles 
the  facade  of  an  extensive  palace.  We  took  rooms 
at  the  Jager-Horn,  reputed  the  best  hotel  in  the 
city,  and  one  of  the  most  excellent  I  have  found, 
throughout  the  whole  extent  of  Germany.  Here 
every  thing  was  life  and  motion.  It  had  been  an 
exceedingly  warm  day,  and,  at  the  time  of  our 
arrival,  when  the  extreme  heat  was  giving  place 
to  the  cool  airs  of  evening,  every  one  seemed  in- 
tent upon  enjoying  the  refreshing  change.  The 
wide  piazza  and  balconies  of  the  Jager-Horn  were 
crowded  with  guests,  some  sipping  their  coffee  or 
ices,  others  indulging  in  the  more  palpable  com- 
forts of  a  substantial  supper.  Inclining  rather  to 
this  last,  after  the  fatigue  and  privation  incident 
to  travelling,  we  took  our  seats  amid  the  joyous 
throng,  and  were  speedily  imitating  their  good 
example.  Of  a  truth,  it  was  a  curious  scene,  that 
there  met  the  eye  ;  there  were  men  whose  various 
garbs  and  physiognomy  would  indicate  represen- 
tatives of  different  and  widely  separated  nations, 
and  yet  they  mostly  were  liege  subjects  of  the 
Austrian.  The  wild  Hungarian,  from  those  remote 
regions  which  the  Dainibe  laves  ere  his  waters  are 
finally  lost  in  the  broad  bosom  of  the  Black  Sea, 
the  more  civilized  denizen  of  Pesth  and  Presburg, 
with  here  and  there  an  individual,  whose  superior 
refinement  of  dress  and  manner  might  denote  the 
tljuant  of  Vienna,  were  here  assembled,  with  a 
dash  of  the  military  to  season   the   whole,  in  the 


THE   DANUBE    BY   MOOxNLIGHT.  81 

mustachioed  lip  and  tasteful  uniform  of  the  Hun- 
garian hussar. 

I  visited  tlie  theatre  during  the  evening  ;  it  is 
large  and  sufficiently  commodious.  The  tout  en- 
semble, however,  impressed  me  as  being  of  too 
sombre  and  triste  a  character,  for  a  temple  where 
rosy  Pleasure  should  preside.  At  the  conclusion 
of  the  performance,  which  was  but  indifferent,  I 
sallied  forth  to  take  a  stroll  along  the  quai  and 
bank  of  the  river.  It  was  a  lovely  night ;  the 
moon's  silvery  beams  danced  gayly  on  the  broad 
bosom  of  the  rushing  waters,  whose  murmurs  alone 
stole  in  upon  the  else  unbroken  silence.  Opposite, 
steeped  in  the  mellow  moonlight,  rose  proudly  the 
heights  of  Ofen,  thick  studded  with  cottage  and 
clustering  vine.  The  scene  was  indeed  most  beau- 
tiful, and  it  was  with  a  regret  enhanced  by  the 
probability  of  never  more  beholding  it,  that  I  re- 
traced my  homeward  path. 

We  found  it  no  easy  matter  to  pitch  upon  a  com- 
modious conveyance  from  Pesth  to  the  Austrian 
capital.  Propelled  against  a  rapid  current,  the 
steam-boat  makes  but  slow  and  tedious  progress. 
The  public  eilwagen  was  not  to  leave  for  some 
days.  In  this  dilemma,  we  were  compelled  to 
have  recourse  to  a  mode  of  travelling  rather  repul- 
sive at  first  sight,  it  must  be  owned  ;  however,  it 
was  something  new,  and  the  mind  yearns  after 
novelty,  maugre  the  prospect  of  a  trivial  temporary 
inconvenience.  The  mode  of  travelling  we  decided 
upon,  then,  was  a  sort  of  posting,  but  of  a  most 
rustic  and  uncouth  nature.  Our  horses  went  well 
11 


82  VIENNA. 

enough,  for  the  Hungarians  are  rapid  drivers  and 
unsparing  of  the  whip  ;  but  the  vehicles,  in  some 
instances,  were  of  a  nature  to  baffle  description. 
A  wheelbarrow  had  been  to  the  full  as  agreeable. 
Picture  a  rude  wagon,  without  springs  or  seat  save 
the  hay  that  was  plentifully  strew^ed  along  its  bot- 
tom, without  a  cover  to  protect  the  voyageurs  from 
the  sun's  ardent  rays,  and  our  voiture  is  before  you. 
I  must  add,  that  it  was  drawn  by  two  steeds, 
whose  appearance  was  but  little  in  their  favor. 
But  fust  impressions  are  often  erroneous,  and  so 
it  was  in  this  instance  ;  for  our  horses,  though  of 
marvellously  plain  and  uncombed  exterior,  acquitted 
themselves  most  creditably.  I  remember  a  dis- 
tance of  thirty  miles  we  traversed  with  the  same 
animals  in  three  hours,  a  rate  of  going  that  might 
challenge  the  boasted  celerity  of  an  English  stage- 
coach. 

We  were  two  davs  in  accomplishing  this  journey, 
having  rested  one  night  upon  the  way ;  and  right 
glad  we  were,  as  one  may  well  suppose,  after  rid- 
ing one  hundred  and  sixty  miles  in  the  manner  I 
have  attempted  to  describe,  to  alight  at  the  door 
of  the  hospitable  Hostelrie,  Erz-Herzog  Carl. 

The  evening  was  far  advanced,  and  "  tired  na- 
ture's sweet  restorer "  speedily  came  to  my  aid. 
Sweet  is  that  dreamless  repose,  the  child  of  stern 
fatigue,  and  sweet  the  consciousness,  as  yielding 
to  thy  soft  embrace,  O  gentle  Sleep,  we  feel  the 
inestimable  boon  has  not  been  lightly  won. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

Identification  of  Austria  and  Vienna.  —  The  Opera.  —  Cheapness  of 
Public  Amusements.  —  iMorality  of  Vienna.  —  Lintz.  —  Saltzburg. 

—  The  Citadel.  —  Salt  Worl<^s  of  Hallein.  —  Descent  into  them.  — 
Creti]3s.  —  Remarks  on  Saltzburg.  —  Gardens  and  Statues.  —  Mu- 
nich.—  The  Queen  Mother  of  Naples.  —  Amusements  for  her. — 
The  Duchess  de  Berri.  —  Remarks  on  Munich.  —  Statues  and 
Paintings  of  Prince  Eugene  Beauharnois.  —  Canova.  —  Churches. 

—  Palaces.  —  The  Theatre.  —  Der  Freischutz.  —  The  English  Gar- 
den. 

After  our  return  from  Hungary,  we  passed  sev- 
eral days  in  Vienna,  pleasantly  enough.  It  is,  in- 
deed, an  agreeable  residence,  possessing  numerous 
attractions,  which  would  have  justified  a  longer 
stay  than  we  had  time  to  make.  Although  the 
Austrian  capital  cannot  compete  with  Paris  in 
life,  gayety,  and  diversified  amusement,  nor  with 
Naples  in  picturesque  situation  and  romantic  envi- 
rons, it  possesses  other  advantages,  which  well 
nigh  place  it  upon  an  equality  with  the  one,  and 
give  it  a  superiority  over  the  other.  As  the  capital, 
and  in  fact  almost  the  only  large  city,  of  Austria, 
it  is  the  grand  central  point,  where  every  thing  of 
note  in  the  arts  and  sciences  is  to  be  found  concen- 
trated. The  whole  splendor  of  the  realm  is  brought 
to  bear  upon  this  one  point.  It  has  been  said,  and 
perhaps  with  justice,  that  Paris  is  France.  See 
the  capital,  and  you  have  seen  all.  Still  more  does 
Austria  seem  identified  with  her  metropolis.  It  is 
the  heart,  in  which  her  very  life  blood  circulates. 


84  VIENNA. 

Touch  it,  and  the  vital  energies  of  the  whole  body 
are  paralyzed.  In  adverting  to  the  amusements  of 
Vienna,  I  have  not  as  vet  mentioned  its  theatres. 
At  the  time  of  mj  visit,  neither  the  opera  nor  ballet 
were  at  their  hig-iest  point  of  excellence.  Winter, 
the  season  that  calls  together  the  brigher  stars  of 
the  musical  and  dramatic  world,  had  not  jet  ar- 
rived. Despite,  however,  the  heat  of  the  weather 
and  absence  of  the  heau  monde,  I  found  at  the  Opera 
much  to  admire  ;  the  performance  of  Mozart's  chef- 
d^ceuvre,  Don  Giovanni,  and  of  Robert  le  Diable, 
the  enduring  monument  of  Mayerbeer's  genius, 
highly  interested  me.  Both  these  operas  having 
been  written  by  Germans,  seem  to  be  given  forth 
with  heightened  effect  in  their  own  deep-toned  lan- 
guage. I  have  seen  them  represented  repeatedly 
at  the  Acadtmie  Royale  of  Paris,  with  all  the  mag- 
nificent accompaniments  of  orchestral  and  scenic 
effect ;  but  the  airy  nature  of  the  language  consorts 
ill  with  the  deep  and  sepulchral  tones  of  the  music 
to  which  it  is  wedded,  or  the  stern  and  supernatu- 
ral images,  in  which  the  wild  genius  of  the  com- 
posers delighted. 

The  prix  d^entree  at  the  places  of  public  amuse- 
ment is  but  trifling.  One  florin  only  was  demand- 
ed, for  the  most  eligible  seat  in  the  house,  at  the 
Opera,  —  a  strong  contrast  with  the  expense  of 
similar  amusements  in  Paris  and  London,  in  which 
last-named  city  1  have  paid  one  pound  sterling 
(ten  times  the  sum)  for  a  place  no  better. 

With  respect  to  morality  and  general  regard  for 
decorum,  travellers  differ  much  in  their  statements. 


MORALITY  OF  VIENNA.  85 

concerning  the  inhabitants  of  Vienna.  Many  have 
united  in  depicting  the  city  as  gay  and  dissolute  in 
the  extreme ;  as  a  spot,  where  virtue  is  but  lightly 
prized  and  little  worth,  where  deviations,  however 
glaring,  are  easily  excused  when  there  are  rank 
and  wealth  to  cloak  them.  The  middling  and  the 
lower  classes,  they  assert  to  be,  to  a  great  degree, 
profligate  and  mercenary.  In  fine,  they  would 
have  us  believe,  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  el- 
ements of  society,  in  the  Austrian  capital,  suffi- 
ciently strong  to  oppose  a  firm  resistance  to  the 
corrupting  power  of  gold.  That,  as  a  general  thing, 
depravity  follows  hard  in  the  steps  of  political 
degradation,  cannot  be  denied.  A  nation,  where 
dwells  not  the  bright  Genius  of  Liberty,  can  ofier 
but  faint  homage  to  the  attractions  of  virtue.  It 
is  only  in  the  bosoms  of  freemen,  that  she  can 
rear  her  altars ;  still  I  must  believe,  that  the  fea- 
tures of  the  picture  above  presented  have  been 
drawn  beyond  the  truth.  Travellers  and  historians 
are  but  too  prone  to  gratify  the  sickly  and  prurient 
taste  of  a  portion  of  their  readers,  by  exaggerating 
and  overcoloring  the  sketches  that  should  be  true 
to  the  life. 

Were  I  asked  for  the  impressions,  which  a  few 
weeks'  residence  in  Vienna  have  left  upon  my 
mind,  I  should  give  as  my  opinion,  unquestionably, 
that  the  Viennese  are  much  addicted  to  pleasure, 
and  consequently  fond  of  money  as  a  means  by 
which  it  can  be  most  easily  obtained  ;  that,  through 
a  generally  defective  system  of  education,  the 
poorer  classes  are  immersed  in  ignorance,  and,  as 


86  LINTZ. 

a  natural  result,  appear  to  have  but  a  vague  sense 
of  right  and  wrong,  in  any  thing  which  the  laws 
of  the  realm  do  not  recognise  and  punish  as  pos- 
itive crime,  or  reward  as  virtue.  But  from  the 
sweeping  conclusions  of  some  travellers,  who  bring 
forward  statements  not  a  little  startling,  and  round- 
ly assert,  that  there  are  few  or  no  exceptions,  I 
must  widely  differ. 

Having  decided  to  travel  post  from  Vienna  to 
the  Rhine,  we  had  selected,  in  that  city,  a  com- 
modious carriage,  and  provided  ourselves  with  an 
experienced  courier.  Every  thing  was  ready  for  a 
fresh  start,  and  soon  it  was  not  without  a  feeling 
of  regret,  that  I  cast  the  last,  lingering  look  upon 
those  lofty  ramparts  and  extended  fauxbourgs, 
which  mark  the  Imperial  city.  But  we  rolled 
rapidly  along.  New  objects  presented  themselves, 
and  the  old  faded  from  the  view. 

At  length  we  arrived  at  Lintz,  distant  about 
one  hundred  and  twenty  miles  from  the  capital. 
We  passed  a  day  in  this  city,  which  ranks,  in  ex- 
tent and  population,  as  the  second  in  Austria  Prop- 
er. It  is  well  built,  with  large  and  handsome  edi- 
fices, and  favorably  situated  upon  the  Danube, 
which  here,  far  more  imposing  than  at  Vienna, 
rolls  onward  in  one  broad,  resistless  stream. 

The  fortifications  at  Lintz  are  curious  and  re- 
markably strong.  We  passed  some  time  in  exam- 
ining them.  Recent  events  have  taught  the  Aus- 
trian, that  the  eternal  boundaries  of  nature  are  but 
a  feeble  obstacle  to  the  ambitious  ardor  of  hostile 
invasion,  and  the  bitter  lesson  has  not  been  lost 
upon  him. 


SALTZBURG.  87 

We  left  Lintz  at  an  early  hour  of  the  morning, 
and  arrived  at  Saltzburg  as  the  night  closed  in. 
Fierce  was  the  contention  of  the  elements,  that, 
long  ominous  of  evil,  burst  at  last  into  fury  as  we 
neared  the  town.  The  rain  fell  in  torrents,  accom- 
panied by  loud  peals  of  thunder,  while  the  light- 
ning's vivid  darts  illumined  at  intervals  the  angry 
face  of  nature.  Speedily  our  vehicle  dashed  through 
the  arched  gateway  that  admits  to  the  city,  and 
drew  up  at  the  door  of  an  hotel ;  when,  with  all 
convenient  haste,  we  proceeded  to  exchange  the 
dripping  discomforts  of  our  present  situation  for 
the  sweets  that  spring  from  a  consciousness  of 
snug  quarters  and  a  comfortable  couch. 

Early  in  the  ensuing  day,  we  sallied  forth  to 
explore  the  curiosities  of  this  singularly  romantic 
town.  Its  situation  is  indeed  exceedingly  striking 
and  picturesque.  Perched  upon  a  lofty  eminence 
stands  a  stately  castle,  the  citadel  of  the  town. 
The  strength  of  its  outworks  and  its  commanding 
position  would  render  it,  when  well  garrisoned,  all 
but  impregnable  to  attack.  We  visited  it,  and 
contemplated  at  leisure  the  busy  world  within. 
Here  was  every  thing  calculated  to  serve  the  pur- 
poses of  War  or  of  Religion.  The  chapel,  decked 
with  the  holy  emblems  of  the  Catholic  faith,  was  in 
close  contiguity  with  halls,  where  shone  the  bur- 
nished implements  of  strife.  The  stern  soldier  and 
mitred  priest  were  here  in  amity.  We  wandered 
through  the  numerous  apartments  of  this  gigantic 
fortress,  and  traced,  with  the  assistance  of  a  guide, 
its  else  labyrinthine  windings.     From  some  of  the 


88  SALTZBURG. 

windows,  we  enjoyed  views  the  most  superb.  The 
whole  edifice  appeared  to  me  as  a  relic  well  worthy 
of  those  rude  yet  chivalrous  ages,  when  men  piled 
stone  upon  stone,  not  with  a  view  to  symmetry  and 
elegance  of  architecture  alone,  but  to  the  comple- 
tion of  structures,  whose  solid  masonry  should  roll 
back  for  centuries  the  inroads  of  time  and  invasion, 
and  descend  to  remote  posterity  to  attest  the  power 
that  bade  them  first  exist. 

Not  far  from  Saltzburg,  about  nine  miles,  are  to 
be  seen  the  celebrated  salt  works  of  Hallein.  An 
examination  of  these  will  most  amply  repay  the  vis- 
iter for  the  little  trouble  he  must  necessarily  en- 
counter. To  reach  the  entrance  of  the  mine,  you 
must  ascend  a  lofty  hill,  along  whose  side  is  cut 
a  path  or  road,  of  a  sufficient  width  to  admit, 
though  but  barely,  a  diminutive  nondescript  of  a 
vehicle,  the  \ixe  of  which  1  had  never  seen  before, 
nor  have  1  since,  that  excursion.  To  this  are  har- 
nessed two  animals  of  a  size  corresponding  with 
the  calibre  of  the  vehicle  ;  and  thus  the  luxurious 
traveller,  while  sitting  at  his  ease,  engrossed  in 
contemplating  the  wild  aspect  that  nature  here 
assumes,  is  leisurely  drawn  to  the  summit  of  the 
mountain.  Upon  arriving  at  the  mouth  of  the  ex- 
cavation, you  are  furnished  with  a  costume  appro- 
priate for  the  nature  of  your  intended  subterranean 
expedition,  and,  preceded  by  a  guide,  torch  in 
hand,  you  descend  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth. 
The  manner  of  descent  is  diverse,  according  as  the 
path  becomes  more  or  less  steep.  The  most  per- 
pendicular portions  are  thus  traversed.    You  recline 


SALT   WORKS   OF  HALLEIN.  89 

upon  your  back  upon  two  smooth,  rounded  spars ; 
two  ropes  run  parallel  on  either  side  ;  embracing 
with  each  arm  one  of  these,  jou  slide  swiftly 
down  the  steep.  This  is  repeated  three  or  four 
times.  By  the  time  you  arrive  at  the  last  descent 
of  this  nature,  your  fears  have  all  vanished,  and 
you  find  this  novel  mode  of  burrowing  not  without 
its  charm.  When  arrived  where  the  previous  ab- 
ruptness of  descent  gives  way  to  a  moderately  in- 
clined plane,  you  resume  the  use  of  your  feet, 
and  carefully  traverse  the  narrow  path,  of  width 
sufficient  to  admit  but  one  at  a  time.  Ever  and 
anon  the  guide  pauses  and  directs  your  attention 
to  the  more  striking  exhibitions  of  the  mineral, 
that  sparkles  with  various  hues  upon  the  sombre 
walls.  So  profound  is  the  darkness,  that  it  seems 
well  nigh  impervious  to  the  rays  of  your  torch, 
whose  faint  glimmer,  chasing  it  away  but  a  few 
feet  in  advance,  serves  to  render  even  more  dismal 
the  Egyptian  obscurity. 

Moving  on,  we  at  length  arrive  to  what  I  con- 
ceive the  grand  feature  of  the  scene.  Upon  emerg- 
ing from  the  contracted  path,  a  widened  space 
opens  before  you  ;  the  glare  of  lamps,  placed  there 
for  the  occasion,  flickered  over  a  pool  of  very  Sty- 
gian blackness.  A  raft  was  floating  on  its  bosom, 
and  upon  it  stood  a  man,  whom  the  excited  imag- 
ination might  picture  as  the  Infernal  Boatman  of 
mythology.  At  our  approach,  he  propelled  his 
raft  toward  us,  upon  which  embarking,  we  were 
speedily  landed  upon  the  opposite  side.  There 
was  something  positively  startling  in  the  whole 
12 


90  SALTZBURG. 

scene  ;  a  something,  that  impresses  itself  upon  the 
memory  with  ineffable  power. 

The  remainder  of  the  distance,  some  eight  hun- 
dred yards,  was  passed  over  with  considerable  ra- 
pidity. We  seated  ourselves  astride  a  wooden  horse 
provided  with  wheels,  and  in  this  condition  were 
drawn  wdth  much  swiftness  to  the  extremity  of 
the  mine.  The  fair  light  of  Heaven  at  length 
broke  upon  us,  in  lovely  contrast  wath  the  dark 
and  lurid  scene  we  had  but  just  witnessed.  We 
emerged  into  the  external  world  at  the  base  of  the 
mountain  before  mentioned.  After  settling  with 
our  guides  and  selecting  sundry  specimens  of  rock- 
salt  exhibited  for  sale,  w^e  drove  back  to  Saltzburg 
well  pleased  with  the  excursion. 

The  scenery  everywhere  in  this  vicinity  displays 
an  Alpine  grandeur ;  but  Nature,  otherwise  so  ])ro- 
fuse  in  her  gifts,  has  here  bestowed  them  with  a 
sparing  hand  upon  man.  His  stature  is  diminu- 
tive, and  he  is  subject  to  the  painful  deformity  of 
goitre.  Large  numbers  of  Cretins^  a  name  given 
to  those  who  are  idiots  from  their  birth,  are  to  be 
found  in  these  regions.  The  Cretin  seldom  ex- 
ceeds four  feet  and  a  few  inches  in  height,  and 
no  ray  of  light  iMumes  his  benighted  soul ;  occa- 
sionally whole  families  are  found  in  this  lamentable 
condition.  It  seems,  indeed,  most  remarkable, 
that,  with  an  elevated  country  and  the  pure  air  of 
the  mountains  to  inspire,  a  people  should  be  vis- 
ited by  such  fearful  maladies ;  but,  to  our  finite 
perceptions.  Nature  seems  often  to  delight  in  the 
strangest  anomalies. 


GARDENS   AND   STATUES.  91 

There  are  many  objects  of  interest,  besides  those 
I  have  mentioned,  to  detain  the  tourist  at  Saltz- 
burg.  From  my  own  experience  I  should  say, 
that,  in  making  the  tour  of  Europe,  the  traveller 
will  nowhere  discover  a  town,  whose  situation  is 
more  beautifully  romantic  and  picturesque.  Here 
are  palaces  and  churches  ;  here  are  gardens  also ; 
one  I  remember  in  particular,  most  ingeniously 
laid  out.  In  one  part  of  it  was  a  fairy  grot.  En- 
tering, you  find  abundance  to  surprise  and  mystify. 
There  is  the  shrill  carol  of  birds,  proceeding  from 
you  know  not  where,  and,  of  a  sudden,  innumerable 
jets  cVeau  spring  from  their  latent  conduits,  and, 
unless  warned  by  your  guide  of  the  danger,  your 
curiosity  is  rewarded  by  a  good  drenching.  One 
little  circumstance  amused  me.  There  was  a 
statue,  bearing  upon  its  head  a  metallic  vase,  after 
the  semblance  of  a  crown  ;  all  at  once,  as  it  were 
through  mysterious  agency,  the  vase  was  raised 
and  held  suspended  in  air,  by  a  jet  of  water, 
which,  passing  upward  through  the  statue,  was  ap- 
plied so  exactly  to  the  centre  of  the  crown,  as  to 
bear  it  motionless  upon  its  sparkling  top.  At  last, 
the  force  of  the  stream  gradually  subsiding,  it 
slowly  descended  to  its  former  position. 

The  hotel,  that  great  item  in  the  traveller's 
diary,  is  very  good  at  Saltzburg,  and  you  are  plen- 
tifully regaled  with  the  delicious  trout,  that  abound 
in  the  mountain  streams  in  its  vicinity. 

It  w^as  a  beautiful  day,  when  we  left  this  gem 
of  the  mountains  on  our  way  to  Munich,  and 
cheerily  our  horses  shortened  the  dividing  space. 


92  MUNICH. 

At  evening,    being   yet  far  distant  from  the  city, 
we  decided  to  stop  for  the  night  at  an  inn,  whose 
exterior  gave   good  promise,  and  resume  our  jour- 
ney  at   early  dawn.     Next  day  at  noon  found  us 
in  the  Bavarian  capital.    The  best  hotel  in  this  city 
bears  the  name  of  the  Golden  Stag.     Its  proprietor 
having  once   been  chief  artist  in  the  culinary  de- 
partment to  Eugene  Beauharnois,  you  may  reason- 
ably expect  to  meet  with  good  cheer,  and  such  in 
truth  do  you  find.    Her  Majesty,  the  Queen  Mother 
of  Naples,  was  a  guest  at  the  time.     To  amuse 
the  royal  dame,  various  diversions  were  contrived. 
Among  others,  1  was  present  at  one,  certainly  not 
over  feminine   in   its  character.     A  man  was    sta- 
tioned in  the  area  of  the  hotel,  with  a  matty  cover- 
ing upon  his  back  ;    some   few  yards  behind  him, 
a  savage  dog  was  with  difficulty  restrained  by  his 
keepers  ;    upon    a    given    signal,    the    animal    was 
freed  from    confinement,    and,    springing  furiously 
forward,  he  instantly  tore  the  man  to  the  ground. 
The  intervention  of  the    keepers  alone  prevented 
further  injury.     This  scene  was    repeated  several 
times    for    the    edification    of    her    Majesty,    who 
appeared  tolerably  well   satisfied  with  the  exhibi- 
tion.    In  person,  the   Queen  is  short  and  of  prodi- 
gious rotundity,  with   a  countenance  whose    rubi- 
cund tint  denoted  no  particular  dislike  to  the  in- 
spiriting cordials    of  her  own    sunny  realm.     She 
was  conversing  familiarly  in   French  with  a  gen- 
tleman at  her  side,  of  handsome  exterior,  probably 
a  compagnon  de  voyage.     The  object  of  her  excur- 
sion   to    Germany    was    said   to    be,    Madame   la 


DUCHESSE  DE   BERRI.  93 

Dtichesse  de  Berri,  at  that  time  residing  at  Ischel, 
a  watering-place  not  far  from  Munich.  They  are 
nearly  connected,  and,  while  paying  a  visit  to  her 
kinswoman,  the  Queen  took  occasion  to  testify  her 
respect  to  the  German  courts  by  honoring  them 
severally  a  few  days  with  her  royal  presence. 
With  regard  to  la  Duchesse,  I  of  course  felt  no 
small  curiosity  to  see  a  lady,  who  has  played  so 
conspicuous  a  role  in  French  politics  ;  but  I  had 
not  that  pleasure.  She  was  living  secluded  in  the 
small  post-town  of  Ischel  for  the  benefit  of  its 
waters.  There  must,  I  should  think,  be  a  strong 
bond  of  sympathy  between  this  lady  and  another, 
Maria  Louisa,  once  consort  of  Napoleon.  Fortune 
had  placed  these  two  women  in  the  most  com- 
manding situations,  and  rudely  has  she  destroyed 
the  fabric  that  upheld  them  ;  both  might  reason- 
ably have  expected  to  see  the  reins  of  government 
in  the  hands  of  their  respective  children,  and  heart- 
rending must  have  been  the  bitter  disappointment. 
Oh,  mutable  Fortune  !  what  puppets  are  we  in 
thy  hands,  and  with  Avhat  wayward  caprice  dost 
thou  direct  the  course  of  our  destinies. 

But  to  return.  Of  Munich,  I  think  it  may  be 
said,  here  is  the  best  built  town  in  Germany ;  its 
broad  streets,  its  handsome  edifices,  and  airy  squares, 
all  confirm  this  beyond  a  doubt.  It  is  the  honest 
pride  of  the  King  to  embellish  and  adorn  his  cap- 
ital, as  far  as  his  royal  revenue  and  his  own  private 
fortune  will  allow.  The  chefs-d^oeuvre  of  modern 
sculpture  ornament  the  churches  and  halls  of  stat- 
uary at  Munich.     Nor  are  there  wanting  the  fault- 


94  MUNICH. 

less  relics  of  that  olden  time,  which  gave  birth  to 
the  Apollo  and  the  Venus.  Without  the  confines 
of  classic  Italy,  there  can  nowhere  be  found  more 
chaste  and  beautiful  productions  of  the  wondrous 
power  that  moulds  the  marble  into  life,  than  at 
Munich.  The  genius  of  Canova  is  fitly  represent- 
ed among  a  collection  of  statuary  and  paintings, 
formerly  the  property  of  Prince  Eugene  Beauhar- 
nois.  1  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  his  famous 
group  of  the  Graces.  It  is  difficult  to  conceive  any 
thing  more  harmonious  and  exquisite,  than  these 
lovely  emanations  of  the  artist's  fancy.  The  per- 
fect symmetry  and  soft,  rounded  outline  of  the 
figures,  with  the  poetic  grouping  of  the  whole, 
combine  to  form  a  piece  unsurpassed  in  the  annals 
of  modern  art.  There  seems  ever  to  float  around 
the  chisel  of  Canova  an  Italian  fervor,  tempered 
with  a  delicacy  the  most  refined.  When  he  imaged 
forth  the  fair  form  of  woman,  there  was  nothing  of 
the  gross  and  palpable,  such  as  Rubens  has  delight- 
ed to  delineate  ;  under  his  refining  touch,  the  baser 
metal  seems  transmuted  into  gold.  Like  the  im- 
mortal Raffaelle,  he  has  clothed  the  terrestrial  form 
with  a  warm,  yet  seraphic  loveliness,  enchaining 
the  soul  rather  than  the  senses.  It  is  as  though 
the  fleeting  vision  of  the  rapt  poet  were  seized 
in  its  intensity  and  wrought  into  marble,  as,  with 
heated  fancy,  he  pictures  forth,  in  all  its  ineffable 
attraction,  the  mysterious  object  of  an  ideal  love. 

The  churches  at  Munich  are  generally  handsome. 
There  are  two  or  three  really  splendid,  rich  with 
glowing  frescoes  and   costly  decorations.     In    one 


PALACES.  95 

of  them  is  to  be  seen  the  tomb  of  Prince  Eugene 
Beauharnois,  adorned  with  some  fine  pieces  of 
sculpture  by  Tliorwaldsen,  emblematic  of  the  vir- 
tues of  the  illustrious  dead.  There  are  numerous 
palaces  in  the  Bavarian  capital.  By  far  the  most 
superb  is  one,  which  was  on  the  eve  of  being  com- 
pleted at  the  time  of  our  visit,  and  indeed  a  most 
fit  habitation  for  majesty  to  dwell  in.  This  pal- 
ace is  not  of  those  huge,  yet  useless  dimensions, 
that  former  ages  have  delighted  in ;  it  is  an  edifice 
whose  external  appearance  indeed  pleases  the  eye, 
but  within,  it  may  be  denominated  a  perfect  bijou, 
light,  airy,  exquisitely  finished.  On  the  walls  are 
paintings,  illustrative  of  incidents  in  mythology. 
You  perceive  not  here  that  heavy,  cumbersome 
splendor,  which  characterizes  the  palaces  of  Ver- 
sailles or  Berlin.  There  is  not  such  a  profusion  of 
gilding,  as  is  usually  found  in  royal  residences ; 
but  the  paintings  more  than  compensate  for  its 
absence.  After  taking  an  entire  survey  of  the  in- 
terior, which  is  courteously  permitted  the  stranger, 
you  cannot  fail  to  pronounce  it  chaste  and  beautiful, 
and  an  additional  evidence  of  that  correct  and  pure 
taste,  for  which,  happily  for  his  subjects  and  the 
world,  that  is,  the  travelling  part  of  it,  the  monarch 
has  ever  been  distinguished. 

The  theatre,  a  large  and  handsome  edifice,  is  in 
close  proximity  to  the  palace.  I  visited  it  one 
evening,  and  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing,  for  the 
first  time  in  Germany,  the  wild  strains  of  Der 
Freischutz,  given  in  the  native  language  of  its  com- 
poser ;   the  music  of  the  piece  was  executed  with 


96  MUNICH. 

much  effect.  I  can  still  recall  one  air,  which  mem- 
ory even  now  makes  to  vibrate  on  my  ear  with  a 
silvery  sweetness.  The  young  girl,  that  sang  it, 
could  not  boast,  perhaps,  the  compass  or  power  we 
look  for  in  a  prima  donna,  but  from  her  lips  there 
fell  accents  as  soft  and  thrilling  as  the  mysterious 
voice,  that  trembles  on  the  chords,  which  Zephyr 
gently  wooes. 

His  Bavarian  Majesty  prides  himself  upon  the 
excellence  of  his  Opera,  for  in  music,  as  well  as 
the  other  fine  arts,  it  has  been  his  aim  to  place 
his  capital  upon  an  equal  footing  with  the  wealth- 
ier and  more  populous  cities  of  the  Continent.  A 
little  without  the  thickly  inhabited  part  of  the  city 
are  beautiful  grounds,  through  which  meanders  a 
rapid  stream,  intersecting  them  in  the  most  pic- 
turesque manner.  These  grounds  have  received 
the  name  of  the  English  Garden.  It  is  a  de- 
lightful spot  for  a  drive  ;  numerous  shaded  roads, 
just  wide  enough  to  admit  your  carriage,  traverse 
the  garden  in  every  direction.  Sheltered  from  the 
sun's  ardent  rays,  you  may  here  while  away  an 
hour  or  two,  in  the  enjoyment  of  what  Dr.  Johnson 
has  classed  among  the  greatest  of  luxuries,  reclin- 
ing back  in  your  carriage,  with  the  agreeable  con- 
sciousness of  getting  rapidly  over  the  ground  at 
others'  expense. 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

Journoy  to  Frankfort.  —  Observations  on  the  City.  —  Visit  to  the 
Opera.  —  The    Bridge.  —  Gardens.  —  Wiesbaden.  —  Johannisberg. 

—  Chateau  of  Prince  Metternich.  —  The  Grape  and  Wines.  —  Biu- 
gen.  —  Journey  to  Cobleutz.  —  Baronial  Castle.  —  Ehrenbreitstein. 
Jealousy  of  the  Prussian  Government  illustrated.  —  Military  Guides 
and  Arrangement.  —  Passage  down  the  Rhine.  —  Account  of  the 
Boatman,  —  Nonnen worth.  —  A  Castle  and  its  Legend.  —  Drachen- 
fels.  —  Bonn.  —  The  University.  —  Cabinet  of  Natural  Curiosities. 

—  Cologne.  —  The  Cathedral.  —  Tomb  of  the  Three  Kings  of  Co- 
logne.—  The  Crucifixion  of  St.  Peter  by  Rubens. 

After  a  week  had  passed  away  in  the  agree- 
able occupation  of  surveying  the  curiosities,  of 
promenading  the  spacious  streets,  and  roaming 
among  the  picturesque  environs  of  Munich,  we 
decided  to  resume  our  line  of  march  for  Frankfort 
and  the  Rhine. 

The  distance  from  the  capital  of  Bavaria  to  the 
city  of  Frankfort  is  about  two  hundred  and  forty 
English  miles.  This  we  accomplished  in  three 
days,  taking  advantage  of  the  freshness  of  early 
dawn,  to  commence  our  journey,  and  concluding 
with  the  closing  day.  In  this  way,  the  mere  trav- 
elling may  be  rendered  a  pleasure,  whereas,  by 
public  conveyance,  ceaseless  night  and  day,  like 
the  wheels  of  Time,  it  becomes  a  severe  and  de- 
pressing labor.  By  the  evening  of  the  third  day, 
our  journey  was  achieved,  and,  rolling  along  the 
darkening  streets  of  Frankfort,  our  vehicle  drew 
13 


98  FRANKFORT. 

up  at  length  at  the  extensive  Hotel  d^Angleterre. 
I  felt  a  peculiar  glow  of  satisfaction,  upon  arriving 
at  this  point  of  my  tour.  A  feeling,  like  that  we 
experience  after  long  absence  on  the  near  approach 
to  the  home  of  our  youth,  came  over  me.  I  had 
roamed,  far  and  wide,  into  the  heart  of  a  mighty 
continent;  much  had  I  seen  of  novel  and  interesting; 
and  now,  with  the  impressions  yet  warm  on  my  mind, 
I  had  thus  far  returned,  —  thus  far  been  shielded  by 
an  ever  watchful  Providence.  Separated  from  me 
but  by  a  short  interval,  were  flowing  the  rapid  waters 
of  that  noble  stream,  whose  presence  1  would  hail 
as  the  termination  of  the  traveller's  toil  and  fatigue. 
There  is  to  me  a  greater  pleasure  in  the  retrospec- 
tion of  past  happiness,  such  as  one  feels  to  be  the 
well-earned  prize  of  sustained  and  persevering  ex- 
ertion, than  even  in  the  bright  and  glowing  pos- 
session. And  now  there  touched  my  mind,  with 
sweetest  influence,  the  recollection  of  those  sun- 
nier intervals,  that  had  illumined  the  checkered 
past.  The  eve  of  my  arrival  at  the  city  of  the 
Maine  was  beautiful.  I  had  seated  myself  at  the 
open  window,  and,  giving  the  reins  to  fancy,  was 
soon  lost  in  reverie,  when  the  train  of  thought 
was  interrupted  by  a  band  of  music,  slowly  march- 
ing along  the  street.  It  was  numerous  and  com- 
posed entirely  of  horns,  whose  mellow  notes  fell 
with  sweet  concord  upon  the  else  pervading  silence. 
They  marched  onward,  and  the  cheering  sounds 
faded  at  length  in  the  distance.  Time  was,  when 
the  streets  of  Frankfort  resounded  with  the  inspir- 
ing peal  of  martial  music,  and   the  stern  clang  of 


VISIT  TO   THE   OPERA.  99 

armour,  —  when  Knight  and  Retainer  left  desolate 
Home  and  Hall,  to  hurl  the  insulting  infidel  from 
Jerusalem's  walls,  and  rescue  from  the  Paynim's 
grasp  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  where  once  lay  the 
Saviour  of  the  world.  Centuries  have  rolled  away, 
and  the  city,  once  so  imposing  in  its  military  array, 
is  now  exclusively  a  commercial  mart.  It  is  the 
residence  of  extensive  bankers,  and  exerts  no  in- 
considerable effect  upon  the  exchanges  of  Europe. 
It  possesses  a  few  fine  streets,  and  is  altogether 
better  provided  with  hotels  than  any  city  of  similar 
size  upon  the  Continent.  The  general  appearance 
of  the  place,  as  surveyed  from  an  eminence,  is 
strikingly  antique.  There  are  streets  in  Frankfort, 
that  a  stranger  might  well  nigh  shudder  to  pass 
through,  in  the  obscurity  of  night.  They  are  prin- 
pally  situate  in  the  Jews'  quarter,  and  surely  the 
imagination  could  scarce  devise  a  locality  better 
suited  for  the  commission  of  dark  deeds,  or  a  peo- 
ple, whose  entire  appearance  would  indicate  a 
greater  willingness  to  perpetrate  them. 

Among  the  sources  of  amusement  here,  I  must 
of  course  mention  the  Opera,  which  is  considered 
good.  I  attended  it,  and  listened  to  a  long,  tedious 
German  piece,  which  entirely  exhausted  my  small 
stock  of  patience.  It  was  exceedingly  warm  that 
evening,  and  the  house  was  crowded  almost  to  suf- 
focation ;  —  indeed,  so  great  was  the  jam,  that 
once  fairly  in,  it  was  odds  against  the  making  good 
your  retreat ;  so  I  remained  perforce,  and  contem- 
plated the  patient  endurance  stamped  upon  the 
quiet  countenances  of  the  audience,  which  of  itself 


100  FRANKFORT. 

would  have  been  a  sufficient  treat,  had  my  own 
personal  circumstances  been  less  inconvenient. 
There  they  sat  and  listened,  seemingly  as  delighted 
as  though  their  ears  were  drinking  in  the  exquisite 
strains  of  Rossini  or  Auber,  instead  of  a  succession 
of  cold,  meaningless,  uninteresting  sounds,  expres- 
sive, I  presume,  of  that  all  but  inexpressible  thing, 
German  sentimentalism . 

After  a  man  has  made  the  tour  of  Germany,  and 
observed  the  people  under  various  aspects,  he  can 
very  easily  conceive,  what  before  must  have  ap- 
peared rather  odd,  namely,  that  a  scholar  can 
waste  forty  or  fifty  years  of  his  life  upon  criticizing 
a  single  work,  or  providing  it  with  notes  ;  so  ex- 
tremely phlegmatic  does  the  national  temperament 
appear  to  be.  I  am  not  in  the  least  astonished  at 
the  animosity,  which  has  subsisted  between  the 
German  and  Frenchman,  for  surely  no  two  people 
can  be  more  dissimilar  ;  nor  do  I  think  the  success 
that  has  attended  the  latter  upon  the  field  a  matter 
of  any  surprise ;  for  it  would  seem  to  me,  that,  while 
the  German  was  preparing  to  ^vheel,  or  issuing 
orders  for  a  charge,  an  active  enemy  might  find 
time  to  sabre  a  moiety  of  his  lines. 

The  bridge,  that  spans  the  Maine  at  Frankfort, 
is  a  long  and  massive  structure.  On  either  side 
may  be  seen  patrolling  the  soldiers  of  Austria  and 
Prussia  ;  these  powers  having  kindly  consented  to 
make  arrangements  for  securing  the  peace  of  the 
worthy  citizens  of  Frankfort,  who,  from  recent 
circumstances,  had  demonstrated  their  inability  to 
maintain  it  themselves.    The  city  has  thus  virtually 


WIESBADEN.  101 

lost  its  freedom  ;  it  yet  possesses  the  shadow,  but 
the  substance  is  not.  It  is  a  free  town  only  in 
the  name. 

You  may  here  enjoy  an  agreeable  saunter  in  the 
pretty  gardens,  which  occupy  the  site  of  the  ancient 
ramparts.  In  truth,  it  is  a  pleasing  transmutation. 
Flora  now  holds  sway  on  the  spot,  where  float- 
ed the  red   standard  of  war  over   its  strong-hold. 

o 

These  gardens  or  promenades  are  extensive,  encir- 
cling, like  a  boulevard,  a  large  portion  of  the  city. 
We  remained   two  or  three  days  at  Frankfort,  and 
then  took    carriage   for  Wiesbaden,  of   warm-bath 
celebrity,  as  its  name  imports.    It  is  a  pretty  place, 
and  much  resorted  to  by  the  moving  world  of  fash- 
ion.    The    Kursaal,   a  large,    fine  building,  is  the 
centre  of  attraction.     Here   the   heau  monde   (the 
luxury  of   bathing  over)    flock,  in   great  numbers, 
to  avail  themselves  of  the  many  modes  it  offers  for 
killing  that  arch  enemy.  Time.     Under  its  spacious 
roof,  this  edifice  embraces,  bathing  and  promenad- 
ing necessarily  excepted,  all  that  Wiesbaden  oflers 
of  gayety  and   life.     It  contains   an  immense  and 
magnificent  saloon,   that  answers    the   double  pur- 
pose of  a  ball-room   and  a  scdle  a  manger.     When 
lighted  for  an  assembly,  the  effect  is  very  brilliant. 
To  the  American,  imbued  with  the  simpler  man- 
ners of  his   own  republic,    the  premier  coup  d'^ceil 
of  a  scene  like  this  is  not  a  little  striking.     The 
large  and  splendidly  illuminated  salons,  filled  with 
a  gay  concourse,  that  owns  each  tongue  and  nation 
of  civilized   Europe,   music,   dance,   play,  and  the 
feast,  all  are  here.     The  passion  for  gambling,  a 


102  JOHANNISBERG. 

vice  that  would  seem  inseparably  connected  with 
fashionable  watering-places,  is  here  indulged  to  a 
ruinous  extent.  You  want  no  other  proof  of  this, 
than  that  which  is  written  upon  the  flushed  and 
excited  countenance,  or  revealed  by  the  speaking 
eye.  In  close  proximity  to  this  temple  of  dissipa- 
tion, extends  a  long  line  of  boutiques,  where  are 
displayed,  in  pompous  variety,  the  usual  list  of 
trinkets,  pictures,  and  souvenirs  de  place,  which 
watering-places  ever  exhibit,  to  attract  the  notice 
and  lighten  the  purse  of  the  thoughtless  visitant. 
Leaving  Wiesbaden  and  its  attractions,  we  directed 
our  course  toward  Geisenheim,  where  we  intended 
to  cross  the  Rhine  for  Bingen.  We  halted,  for 
some  brief  space,  at  the  famed  villa  of  Johannis- 
berg,  which  lay  but  little  out  of  the  immediate 
route.  Entering  the  Chateau  of  Prince  Metternich, 
we  were  enabled,  through  the  kindness  of  an  old 
domestic,  to  take  a  survey  of  its  numerous  apart- 
ments. They  are  furnished  rather  tastefully  ;  but 
not  in  a  style,  which  would  seem  to  correspond 
with  the  grandeur  of  the  princely  possessor.  The 
situation  of  the  villa  is  truly  charming,  crowning 
the  brow  of  an  eminence,  that  overlooks  the  fairest 
valley  in  the  world,  "  the  Rheingau,"  studded,  as 
far  as  eye  can  reach,  with  hamlets,  villages,  and 
vineyards,  and  spread  with  the  smiling  verdure 
that  attests  the  stately  Rhine.  Johannisberg  is  yet 
more  renowned  for  the  rare  fruit  which  clusters  on 
its  vine-clad  hill,  than  even  for  its  commanding 
beauty  of  situation.  The  cultivation  of  this  choice 
grape   is  an  affair  of   no  trifling  importance  ;    the 


THE  GRAPE  AND  WINE.  103 

clusters  are  left  to  ripen  on  the  vine,  until,  by  their 
own  weight,  they  fall  to  the  ground ;  they  are 
then  thrown  together,  into  vessels  adapted  for  the 
purpose;  thus  the  richest  juice  alone  escapes.  This 
is  carefully  preserved,  a  fitting  gift  to  grace  the 
royal  board  ;  the  grapes,  in  this  manner  deprived 
of  the  most  valuable  of  their  burden,  are  then 
pressed,  and  there  results  an  agreeable  wine,  but 
of  a  quality  much  inferior  to  the  first. 

As  in  duty  bound,  we  demanded  of  the  ancient 
butler  a  bottle  of  his  best,  which,  being  introduced, 
with  the  satisfactory  passport  of  the  Prince's  seal, 
was  duly  cracked  upon  the  spot,  and,  although  its 
force  on  this  occasion  was  expended  among;  three, 
still  did  the  potent  juice  maintain  its  proud  supe- 
riority and  prove,  entirely  to  our  satisfaction,  that 
its  high-sounding  title,  as  commander-in-chief  of  the 
sparkling  Rhenish  confederacy,  was  well  deserved. 
Thus,  having  made  meet  oblation  to  the  presiding 
Genius  of  the  place,  we  tore  ourselves  away  from 
this  modern  Parnassus,  and,  filled  with  poetic  fan- 
cies, rode  cheerily  on  to  where  the  village  of  Gei- 
senheim  extends  its  scattered  buildings  to  the  brink 
of  the  sweeping  Rhine.  Here  we  crossed  the 
river  in  a  large,  flat-bottomed  boat,  and  were  safely 
landed  at  Bingen.  Having  heard  much  of  the  fine 
points  de  vue  to  be  met  with  in  this  place,  and  its 
immediate  vicinity,  we  provided  ourselves  with  a 
guide,  and  vigorously  commenced  the  work  of  scal- 
ing those  heights,  the  views  from  which  he  deemed 
would  best  reward  our  exertions.  In  the  afternoon, 
we    again  crossed    the    Rhine,  and    clambered  up 


1 04  BINGEN. 

the  heights  of  Rudesheim.  All  along,  ridge  upon 
ridge,  well  nigh  to  the  summit,  jou  behold  the  lux- 
uriant and  carefully  nurtured  vines,  whose  luscious 
grape  yields  the  famed  wine  that  bears  its  name. 
Surmounting  these  continued  ridges,  and  overstep- 
ping the  tangling  vines,  we  attained  at  length  a 
spot,  where  stood  the  ruins  of  what  was  once  a 
castle,  overhanging  the  dizzy  precipice  and  foam- 
ing river  below ;  for  here,  its  bounds  compressed, 
the  Rhine  rushes  with  furious  violence  against  a 
protruding  section  of  the  rocky  shore,  and,  rebound- 
ing from  the  shock,  whirls,  with  rapid  and  foaming 
eddies,  far  in  the  distance.  From  these  ruins,  a 
splendid  view  is  obtained  of  Bingen,  the  adjoining 
country,  and  of  the  noble  stream  that  flows  afar, 
with  calm,  unruffled  current,  until,  goaded  by  its 
narrowed  limits,  and  lashed  into  fury  by  unseen 
rocks,  it  dashes,  with  frightful  violence,  against  the 
adamantine  barrier  at  your  feet.  But,  although  thus 
much  was  presented  to  the  admiring  eye,  still  the 
landscape  was  circumscribed ;  for  the  mountain's 
dark  form,  but  yet  half  surmounted,  necessarily 
screened  much  from  the  view.  Again  we  com- 
menced the  toilsome  work  of  ascent,  and  at  length, 
almost  breathless  with  exhaustion,  I  planted  foot 
upon  the  summit.  Oh,  the  glorious  spectacle  which 
there  burst  upon  my  vision  !  The  last  rays  of  the 
setting  sun  were  bathing  in  mellow  light  the  ra- 
diant face  of  nature.  The  water  far  beneath  was 
discerned  winding  its  way,  stripped  of  half  its 
volume  and  all  its  angry  murmur.  Distance  had 
dissolved  away  all  that  was  harsh  in  the  character 


JOURNEY   TO   COBLENTZ.  106 

of  the  scene,  and  the  harmonious  loveliness,  that 
should  seem  to  surround  and  hallow  the  "  Happy 
Valley,"  alone  was  there. 

From  Bingen  we  leisurely  pursued  our  way 
along  the  diversified  bank,  intending  thus  to  follow 
the  river's  sinuous  course  as  far  as  Coblentz.  We 
halted  at  the  more  remarkable  localities,  and  inves- 
tigated them  as  far  as  opportunity  offered. 

I  remember  me  of  one  baronial  castle,  perched, 
as  it  were  in  mid  air,  upon  a  shelving  plain,  that 
jutted  from  the  bosom  of  a  lofty  mountain.  In 
order  to  reach  it,  you  must  overcome  a  rugged  and 
forbidding  acclivity.  This  done,  we  stood  at  length 
before  the  massive  gate  ;  free  ingress  was  politely 
allowed  us,  and  we  roamed  through  the  various 
apartments,  excepting  those  tenanted  at  the  time 
by  the  noble  possessors.  There  they  were,  —  the 
spears,  the  coats  of  mail,  and  all  the  grim  trap- 
pings of  war,  now  rusting  and  inactive,  but  once 
busy  participators  in  the  fray  and  turmoil  of  the 
Feudal  Age,  when  their  rude  intervention  gave  its 
color  to  justice,  and  their  strength  to  the  laws. 
In  the  small  court-yard  of  the  fortress,  we  saw 
the  prince,  attended  by  two  or  three  of  his  friends, 
himself  modestly  attired  in  the  green  garb  of  a 
belted  forester.  He  is  very  nearly  related  to  the 
reigning  family  of  Prussia.  In  one  part  of  the 
castle,  there  are  mounted  a  few  pieces  of  cannon, 
one  of  which  is  discharged  each  time  the  steam- 
boat passes.  I  recollect,  that  subsequently,  upon 
passing  the  castle  on  my  way  to  Mayence,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  discharge  of  ordnance,  a  white  kerchief 
14 


106  COBLENTZ. 

was  waved  from  the  lofty  embrasure  by  a  lady's 
fair  hand,  much  to  the  astonishment  and  admira- 
tion of  some  English  gentlemen  on  board,  who, 
while  confessing  themselves  delighted  at  the  con- 
descension of  the  German  nobility,  wondered  how 
long  it  would  be  before  their  own  unbending  aris- 
tocracy would  stoop  to  so  levelling  an  act.  After 
a  few  hours'  ride,  we  arrived  safely  at  Coblentz, 
and  were  speedily  accommodated  with  comfortable 
lodgings  at  an  excellent  hotel,  which  looks  out  upon 
the  broad  waters  of  the  Rhine. 

The  evening  of  my  arrival  at  Coblentz  was  se- 
renely beautiful.  The  delicious  air  seemed  charged 
with  the  balmy  perfumes,  which  the  summer's 
genial  breath  exhales  in  this  favored  clime.  I  left 
my  hotel,  and  walked  abroad ;  the  rushing  river, 
as  it  swept  beneath  the  bridge  upon  w^hich  I  stood, 
seemed  even  more  majestic  and  lovely  than  it  was 
wont.  Opposite,  the  stately  rock  of  Ehrenbreit- 
stein  reared  its  proud  battlements,  once  the  fated 
mark  against  which  were  directed  the  dread  mis- 
siles of  Famine  and  War.  Now  it  stood  wrapped 
in  the  profound  and  peaceful  silence  of  the  night. 
On  the  ensuing  day,  I  visited  this  gigantic  fortress, 
the  strongest,  perhaps,  in  Europe,  if  we  except 
the  portal  of  the  Mediterranean,  impregnable  Gib- 
raltar. A  guide  attends  you  around  the  most  in- 
teresting sections  of  the  works,  which  strangers 
are  allowed  to  visit ;  for,  of  so  jealous  a  nature  is 
the  Prussian  government,  that  much  is  ever  con- 
cealed from  what  is  deemed  the  dangerous  curiosity 
of  visiters.    The  traveller  usually  takes  away  some 


JEALOUSY  OF  THE  PRUSSIAN  GOVERNMENT.       107 

trifling  memorial  of  his  visit  to  Ehrenbreitstein,  such 
as  hair  rings  with  the  name  of  the  place  wrought 
upon  them,  &c.,  which  are  there  presented  him  for 
a  few  kreutzer.    The  view  from  the  fortress  is  sur- 
passingly fine,  commanding  the   country  for  many 
miles  about.     I  have  said,  that  the   Prussian  gov- 
ernment is  extremely  jealous.     In  corroboration  of 
this  assertion,   I   will   mention  an  incident,  which 
occurred  to  me  during  my  brief  stay  at  Coblentz. 
I   had  contracted  with  a  boatman  for  a  passage 
down  the  stream  as  far  as  Bonn,  with  the  privilege 
of  stopping  at  such  places  as  my  inclination  should 
dictate.     My   boat  was   to   be  ready  early   in  the 
morning  ;   but,  unwilling  to  leave  the  city  without 
enjoying  a  view  I  had  heard  much  extolled,  I  arose 
at  early    dawn,    and    sallied  forth,    armed    with  a 
domestique    de    place,    in    quest   of  my    prospect. 
We   had  walked   a  long  way,   and  nearly  arrived 
at  the  desired  spot,  when  all  of  a  sudden  further 
progress  was  prevented,   by  the  interference  of  a 
company  of  soldiers,  attached,   probably,  to  a  for- 
tress not  far  distant.     Their  commcmdant   invited 
us,  in  a  manner  not  to  be  declined,   to  the  guard 
room,  where  he  commenced  a  very  animated  con- 
versation with  my  valet,   respecting  what,  I  knew 
not.     At  length,   upon    moving  off,   I    found  there 
was  an  unexpected  addition  of  one  to  our  company. 
The  new  comer  was  a  suspicious-looking  fellow  with 
a  bayonet,  who  evinced  a  dogged  determination  to 
remain  in  very  close  contiguity  to  my  person.     Not 
relishing  at  all  this  proximity,  I  slackened  my  pace 
to  take  a  glance  at  the  picturesque  scene  around 


108  COBLENTZ. 

me,  and  allow  my  militaire  to  proceed.  This  move- 
ment seemed  to  excite  the  suspicion  of  those  be- 
hind ;  for  another  individual,  in  the  same  objec- 
tionable guise  'w\\h  the  former,  was  instantly  de- 
spatched to  his  aid,  and,  ranging  themselves  one 
upon  each  side,  we  were  marched,  double  quick 
time,  to  the  caserne  of  the  commanding  officer  of 
the  station ;  and  there,  upon  a  representation  of 
the  case,  the  mistake  was  instantly  perceived,  and 
I  released.  It  appears,  that  the  grounds  we  were 
traversing,  at  the  time  of  our  unseasonable  ren- 
contre with  the  guards,  had  been  forbidden  to 
strangers  only  a  day  or  two  previously,  from  the 
supposition  or  suspicion,  that  they  had  been  visited 
lately  by  French  spies.  My  domestique  knew  noth- 
ing  of  the  circumstance,  and  not  all  his  earnest 
expostulations,  nor  reiterated  representations,  that 
I  was  but  an  innocent  and  enthusiastic  traveller, 
who  had  risen  early  and  forgone  his  dejeuner,  to 
catch  a  hasty  glimpse  of  the  majestic  stream,  with 
its  adjacent  hills  and  vales,  as  illumined  by  the 
rays  of  the  rising  sun ;  —  not  all  these  assertions 
had  the  slightest  effect.  Their  orders  were  per- 
emptory, and  could  not  be  disobeyed.  As  may  be 
supposed,  this  mal-a-propos  rencontre  considerably 
damped  my  enthusiasm,  and,  turning  my  back  upon 
the  scene  of  this  last  exploit,  I  hied  me,  without 
further  delay,  to  where  my  boat  lay  moored,  and, 
casting  off,  commenced,  in  no  very  enviable  spirits, 
a  descent  down  the  rapid  current  of  the  Rhine. 

My  boatman   spoke    French    barely  intelligibly, 
and    his  pronunciation    was  not  a  little  disfigured 


VOYAGE   DOWN   THE  RHINE.  109 

by  a  copious  leaven  of  his  own  nasal  German. 
Nevertheless,  with  some  difliculty,  I  succeeded  in 
keeping  up  a  verbal  communication  with  him.  He 
had  been  a  soldier ;  had  served  under  Napoleon, 
in  Italy  and  elsewhere  ;  but  the  broad  stream,  upon 
whose  tranquil  bosom  we  w^ere  swiftly  gliding, 
had  long  been  the  theatre  of  the  more  peaceful  acts, 
that  made  up  the  sum  of  his  existence.  Much  did 
he  deprecate  the  unwholesome  innovation  of  steam- 
boats, which,  beside  their  being  so  replete  with 
danger,  drove  so  many  honest  fellows  out  of  em- 
ploy. With  not  a  little  of  the  curious  and  interest- 
ing tradition,  in  which  the  banks  of  the  Rhine 
are  so  fruitful,  he  was  well  imbued.  He  pointed 
out  to  me  the  mountain  fastnesses,  from  whose 
dark  concealment,  the  "  Robbers  of  the  Rhine  " 
were  accustomed  to  precipitate  themselves  upon 
the  unwary  traveller,  to  plunder  and  destroy.  In 
his  younger  days,  at  Mayence,  he  had  seen  fall 
the  head  of  the  robber  chief,  Schinderhannes,  when 
a  score  of  his  band  shared  the  fate  of  their  leader. 
But  to  return  from  the  boatman  to  myself;  the 
first  place  where  we  laid  by  the  oars  was  the  small 
town  of  Niewied,  which,  however,  gives  its  name 
to  a  prince.  There  is  here  a  cabinet  of  natural 
curiosities,  &c.,  to  take  up  an  hour  of  the  tourist's 
time.  Again  we  glided  along,  without  interrup- 
tion, until  the  picturesque  beauty  of  the  island  of 
Nonnenworth,  with  its  white,  antiquated  convent, 
peering  from  the  leafy  wall  that  incloses  it,  tempt- 
ed me  to  silence  again  the  dripping  oar.  It  is, 
in  sooth,  a  most  romantic  spot,  —  that  fairy  islet, 


110  NONNENWORTH. 

—  and  one  admirably  adapted,  as  it  would  seem 
to  me,  from  its  combination  of  sweet  influences, 
to  sooth  the  disturbed  feelings  of  those,  who,  from 
prevalence  of  wordly  ill,  disappointment,  or  frail 
mishap,  chose  to  sequester  themselves  from  the 
world,  and  feed  their  sorrows  in  the  gloomy  silence 
of  the  cloister.  Indeed,  Tradition  affirms,  that 
the  nuns  ever  enjoyed  a  remarkable  share  of  health, 
attributable  no  doubt  to  the  extreme  salubrity  of 
the  air,  and  the  unrivalled  beauty  of  prospect, 
which  on  every  side  greets  the  eye. 

Near  the  island,  on  an  eminence  that  overlooks 
the  convent,  are  still  to  be  seen  the  ruins  of  a  cas- 
tle, reared,  says  the  legend,  by  a  valiant  knight, 
who,  urged  by  pious  zeal,  bade  adieu  to  his  be- 
trothed, and  repaired  to  the  wars  of  Palestine. 
Tidings  of  his  death  at  length  reached  her,  and, 
despair  overmastering  all  other  emotions,  she  took 
the  irrevocable  vow,  that  consigned  her  to  a  living 
grave.  He  returned  to  claim  his  promised  bride  ; 
the  wreath  of  glory  encircled  his  brow,  but  it  was 
her  approving  smile  alone  could  give  it  value. 
Too  soon  he  learned  the  fatal  intelligence,  and, 
heart-broken,  reared  with  faithful  hand  that  gloomy 
pile,  from  whence,  while  life  endured,  he  gazed 
with  that  calm  despair,  which  strikes  deep  its 
iron  into  the  very  soul,  upon  the  walls  that  con- 
tained his  adored  ;  and,  when  death  came  to  ter- 
minate his  sorrows,  the  last  sigh  that  escaped  his 
bosom  was  breathed  for  her  he  had  so  fondly  loved. 
Thus  runs  the  legend,  which  is  touchingly  alluded 
to  by  Bulwer  in  his  "  Pilgrims  of  the  Rhine." 


DRACHENl- ELS.  Ill 

After    musing    a    half  hour    amid    the    peaceful 
groves    of  this    now  deserted    isle,    I    once    more 
stejDped  into  the   boat,  and  shaped   my  course  for 
where    the    "castled    crag  of   Drachenfels "   rears 
high  its  towering  head.     Finding  satisfactory  ac- 
commodations at  a  village  not  far  from  the  moun- 
tain's  base,   and   the   weather    being    inclement,  I 
resolved  to  proceed  no  farther    that    evening,    but 
await    the    ensuing    dawn,    to    enjoy    a    prospect, 
which,  of  its  kind,  travellers  are  agreed  in  telling 
us,    is    nowhere    to    be    surpassed.     The    morning 
came,  but  veiled  in  mists.     Nevertheless,  as  there 
was  no  time  to  be  lost,  I  decided  to  commence  the 
ascent ;    so,    providing   myself  with  a  lascia  pas- 
sare*  a  guide,  and  a  donkey,  I  set  out.     The  sun 
broke  out   at   intervals,   as    we    wended  our    way 
along  the  mountain's  steep  sides  ;    but,  ere  I  had 
achieved  the  ascent,  and  set  foot  upon  the  summit, 
an  envious  mist,  mantling  all  in  obscurity,  derohed 
from  my  view  the  lovely  panorama  that  was  spread 
out  below.     I    remained    some    time    in    hopes    it 
would  disperse,  but  in  vain.     My  guide  indicated 
the   direction  of  this  place,  and  that.     There,  the 
spires   of  such    a   town   were    visible,  —  but    my 
imagination  was    the    only    faculty    that  could    be 
put  in   exercise,  to  corroborate  his  assertions ;    so 
I    was  fain  at  length    to    bestride    once  more   my 
diminutive    beast,    and    thread    the    sinuous    way 
adown  the  steep.     Again  my  ready  skiff  was  glid- 

*  In  order  to  ascend  the  Drachenfels,  the  traveller  is  compelled  to 
purchase  a  permit ;  for,  in  this  intei-esting  country,  even  the  beauties 
of  nature  are  made  to  serve  the  rapacity  of  man. 


112  BONN. 

ing  along  the  stream,  and  merrily  pulled  the  oars- 
men, until  we  reached  the  classic  town  of  Bonn, 
my  place  of  destination.  Here  I  settled  with  the 
boatman,  and  discovered  too  late,  that  his  stories 
and  flattering  compliments  were  well  charged  in 
the  account ;  one  cannot  be  called  un  beau  jeune 
homme,  (which  he  was  pleased  to  designate  me,) 
without  paying  for  it,  particularly  on  the  Rhine. 
An  hour  or  two  was  to  elapse  before  the  arrival  of 
the  steam-boat  for  Cologne ;  and  I  passed  the  in- 
terval in  roaming  about  the  town,  and  visiting  the 
principal  places  of  interest.  Among  these  stands 
conspicuous  the  University,  which  enjoys  a  Euro- 
pean reputation.  Students  are  assembled  here 
from  all  parts  of  the  Continent  and  the  Imperial 
Isles.  In  the  vicinity  of  the  University  are  agree- 
able walks,  protected  from  the  sun's  rays  by  the 
thick  foliage  of  trees.  There  is  something  in  the 
sequestered  walk  or  retreat,  which  is,  in  my  mind, 
singularly  in  consonance  with  the  very  idea  of  a 
University ;  whether  it  be,  that  this  fancy  is  to 
be  traced  back  for  its  birth  to  that  remote  age, 
when,  in  academic  grove,  Plato  and  Socrates  were 
wont  to  teach  their  noble  disciples,  or  whether  it 
be  from  the  idea,  that  the  chainless  mind  soars, 
amid  the  populous  solitude  of  Nature,  to  a  loftier 
contemplation,  I  pretend  not  here  to  decide. 

There  is,  at  Bonn,  a  cabinet  of  natural  curiosi- 
ties, well  worthy  the  stranger's  attention.  Indeed, 
I  question  whether  there  be,  in  any  portion  of  the 
Prussian  dominions,  a  more  rare,  complete,  and 
better  assorted  collection    than  this.     I  was  cice- 


CATHEDRAL  AT  COLOGNE.  113 

roned  through  the  various  apartments  by  an  elderly 
female,  who  seemed  not  a  little  pleased  at  the 
warm  eommendations  I  bestowed  upon  objects,  to 
which  her  time  and  care  were  so  much  devoted. 
From  Bonn  I  took  the  steamer  for  Cologne,  — 
once  proud  Cologne.  Here  may  yet  be  seen  ves- 
tiges of  that  stupendous  power,  which  once  held 
the  wide-spread  regions  of  Europe  in  its  firm  em- 
brace ;  whose  mighty  and  well  nigh  imperishable 
landmarks  have  resisted  the  fire  and  the  sword, 
and  successfully  battled  for  centuries  with  that 
arch-enemy  of  the  material^  destroying  Time. 
Here,  too,  rises  the  massive  monument  that  marks 
the  Middle  Ages,  —  the  colossal  Cathedral,  unfin- 
ished, indeed,  but  magnificent  in  its  very  imper- 
fection. Had  this  edifice  been  completed,  upon 
the  plan  originally  intended,  it  would  have  stood 
to  future  ages,  a  wonder  of  the  world  ;  but  the 
design  was  too  vast.  Enter  the  church,  and  cast 
your  eye  upon  its  sombre  and  solitary  grandeur. 
Directing  your  steps  along  the  spacious  nave,  you 
advance  to  the  further  extremity,  and  reach  at 
length  the  penetralia  of  the  temple,  which  to  unlock 
requires  a  silver  key.  Here  Tradition  holds  the 
sway ;  and  the  tomb  of  the  Three  Kings  of  Cologne, 
the  Magi  who  humbled  themselves  before  the  in- 
fant Saviour  of  mankind,  meets  your  eye.  The 
heads  of  the  wise  men  are  yet  to  be  seen,  protect- 
ed from  all  meddlesome  curiosity  by  an  interposi- 
tion of  glass ;  they  are  of  rather  a  dark  hue,  but 
possess,  no  doubt  from  the  rubbing  of  the  faithful, 
a  splendid  polish.  The  richness  of  the  tomb  is 
15 


114  COLOGNE. 

very  remarkable ;  it  is  composed,  in  a  great  meas- 
ure, of  solid  gold,  and  sparkles  with  a  plenteous 
admixture  of  precious  stones ;  besides  this,  there 
are  shown  you  other  relics,  gifts  of  a  pious  age, 
and  of  inestimable  value  ;  clusters  of  jewels,  of 
untold  worth,  gleam  from  the  various  emblems  of 
the  Catholic  faith,  that  surround  you.  All  this 
treasure  is  looked  upon  as  most  sacred.  Any  other 
use,  than  that  of  suffering  it  to  remain  idle,  would 
be  deemed  sacrilegious,  even  were  the  proceeds 
arising  from  its  sale  to  be  directed  towards  per- 
fecting the  noble  pile.  Thus  it  is  in  all  Catholic 
countries.  While  the  people  are  struggling  in  very 
indigence  for  their  bread,  the  churches  are  brilliant 
with  all  that  wealth,  genius,  or  taste  can  devise 
and  communicate ;  and,  despite  their  sufferings, 
the  deluded  populace  seem  to  forget  all  for  the 
privilege  of  being  admitted  to  these  costly  shrines, 
and  of  bowing  down  before  the  gilded  images, 
which  they  are  taught  to  venerate. 

From  the  top  of  the  Cathedral,  you  have  a  fine 
view  of  the  city.  1  remained  there  a  considerable 
time,  enjoying  the  beauty  of  the  prospect  spread  out 
before  me,  and  absorbed  not  a  little  in  such  mus- 
ings as  the  venerable  edifice  would  naturally  suggest. 
There  I  stood,  upon  its  loftiest  point,  gazing  upon 
the  colossal  proportions,  which  the  march  of  centu- 
ries had  developed.  Here  and  there,  the  curt  and 
stunted  tree  protruded  from  crevices,  which  Time 
had  sunk  in  those  stately  walls.  Of  what  changes 
had  this  mighty  edifice  been  the  massive  landmark, 
from  the  time  when  the  bold  design  was  conceived 


RUBENS'S   CRUCIFIXION  OF   ST.  PETER.  115 

and  acted  upon  of  rearing  it !  fit  temple  for  the 
(then)  universality  of  the  religion  it  maintained,  — 
to  the  present  era,  when,  like  itself,  that  religion 
is  mouldering  away. 

There  are  other  objects  well  worthy  the  atten- 
tion of  the  stranger  at  Cologne ;  among  them 
stands  conspicuous  a  picture,  by  the  prince  of  mod- 
ern painters,  Peter  Paul  Rubens.  This  magnifi- 
cent painting  represents  the  crucifixion  of  St. 
Peter.  It  is  looked  upon  by  many  as  the  master- 
piece of  the  great  artist,  and  is  of  itself  of  suffi- 
cient excellence  to  repay  one,  even  were  there  no 
further  attraction,  for  a  visit  to  Cologne.  The 
agonizing  nature  of  the  subject  is  treated  with  a 
fidelity,  that  causes  an  involuntary  shudder  to  creep 
over  the  spectator.  In  the  Saint's  expiring  coun- 
tenance, the  weakness  and  mortal  agony  incident 
to  the  man,  appear  lost  in  the  holy  joy  and  triumph 
of  the  Martyr,  and  already  the  pure  effulgence  of 
Heaven  seems  to  have  broken  in  upon  the  expect- 
ant soul.  On  the  reverse  of  the  painting,  there 
is  a  copy  of  this  masterly  composition.  As  to 
drawing  and  coloring  it  is  well  enough,  but  how 
deficient  in  that  indefinable  spirit  of  life,  that  un- 
dying essence,  which,  springing  warm  and  sponta- 
neous from  the  inspired  touch  of  genius,  we  regard 
with  reverence,  as  an  immediate  emanation  from 
that  Almighty  Power,  whose  dread  fiat  bade  the 
universal  space  awake  from  its  primitive  Chaos  and 
teem  w^ith  countless  existences. 


CHAPTER   IX. 

Journey  to  Mayence.  —  The  Cathedral.  —  Maiiheim.  —  Heidelberg.  — 
Castle  built  by  Charlemagne.  —  View  of  the  City.  —  Viewing  natu- 
ural  Scenery  at  Sunset.  —  Companion  from  Holland.  —  Carlsruhe. 

—  Baden.  —  The  Castle.  —  Prospect  from  it.  —  An  English  Lady. 

—  Beauty.  —  Strasburg.  —  The  Cathedral. — View  from  it.  —  Ger- 
man Character  of  the  City.  —  Remarks  on  Travelling.  —  Colmar. 

After  a  brief  stay  at  Cologne,  during  which  I 
was  incessantly  occupied  in  scouring  the  town  with 
my  valet  de  place,  in  search  of  the  curious,  I  once 
more  committed  myself  to  the  broad  bosom  of  the 
stately  river,  and,  with  the  united  aid  of  steam 
and  current,  swept  rapidly  adown  the  legendary 
Rhine.  The  varied  banks,  now  towering  to  a 
lofty  ridge  of  hills,  now  spreading  into  the  wide 
and  cultivated  champaigne,  hurried  swiftly  by. 
There  the  lofty,  castled  ruin  of  what  once  was 
Power  swelled  proudly,  for  a  moment,  on  the  vis- 
ion, and  as  speedily  vanished  away.  Further  on 
the  scattered  village,  with  its  solitary  spire,  arrests 
for  a  moment  the  attention  ;  and  here,  the  travel- 
ler gazes  upon  the  blackened  edifices  and  crum- 
bling towers  of  what,  now  dwindled  to  a  shade, 
was  once  the  luxurious  abode  where  Empire  held 
her  seat.* 

At  length  we  come  in  view  of  Ehrenbreitstein's 
massive    rock,   and  the  white    walls  of   Coblentz. 

*  The  once  Imperial  town  of  Boppart,  now  dwindled  to  a  petty 
place  of  trade. 


JOURNEY   TO   MAYENCE.  117 

Here  terminates  the  journey  for  the  day.  The 
next  morning  we  resumed  our  course,  and  the 
sun's  declining  rays  were  gilding  the  roofs  of 
Mayence,  as  we  landed  at  the  welcome  pier.  I 
remained  in  the  ancient  city  two  or  three  days, 
amusing  myself,  as  well  as  might  be,  with  saun- 
tering along  the  banks  of  the  Rhine,  and  about  the 
pretty  and  picturesque  environs  of  the  place.  In 
the  town  itself,  there  is  not  much  to  admire.  The 
streets  are  too  narrow,  and  laid  out  with  but  little 
regularity  and  elegance ;  and  there  are  but  few 
public  buildings,  which,  either  in  size  or  architec- 
ture, have  much  to  recommend  them.  The  Ca- 
thedral, however,  is  a  noble  exception  ;  it  has  stood 
as  it  now  stands  for  hundreds  of  years,  imposing 
in  its  solemn  grandeur  and  majestic  proportions. 

Within  the  church  are  many  tombs,  around  sev- 
eral of  which  History  and  Tradition  have  blended 
the  tale  of  interest  and  romance.  Mayence,  thou 
art  not  now  what  once  thou  wert,  when  the  elec- 
tric song  of  the  fearless  troubadour  awoke  the 
hearts  of  thy  youths  and  maidens  to  glory  and  to 
love.  The  chivalry  of  past  ages  is  extinct  now 
upon  the  favored  spot,  from  whence  it  whilome 
streamed  so  gallantly  forth.  But  yet,  in  the  mind 
of  the  scholar  and  the  poet,  is  thy  name,  May- 
ence, embalmed  in  the  memory  of  its  past  glories. 
Leaving  the  degenerate  present,  such  an  one  recurs 
back  to  the  period,  when  first  dawned  from  within 
thy  walls  the  light  of  that  stupendous  invention, 
that  dissipated  the  moral  darkness  of  a  world,  and 
taught  mankind  to  think. 


118  MANHEIM.  —  HEIDELBERG. 

From  Mayence,  I  pursued  my  way  to  Manheim. 
This  is  accounted  one  of  tiie  most  regularly  built 
towns  in  Germany  ;  the  streets  are  straight,  suffi- 
ciently broad,  and  garnished  with  handsome  edi- 
fices ;  there  are  also  some  fine  churches.  One  I 
remember  in  particular,  which  impressed  me  as 
being  a  model  of  that  exquisite,  yet  unpretending 
elegance,  so  in  unison  with  our  ideas  of  what  a 
temple  dedicated  to  such  holy  purpose,  should  be. 
The  Electoral  Palace  is  very  spacious  ;  it  contains 
many  handsome  rooms,  and  a  fine  chapel.  The 
royal  possessors  were  not  present  at  the  time  of 
my  visit,  so  I  enjoyed  the  privilege  of  roaming  at 
will  through  the  varied  and  extensive  range  of 
apartments.  Manheim  can  also  boast  a  pretty 
theatre,  not  large,  but  well  appointed,  as  in  the 
generality  of  German  cities. 

I  quitted  this  city  in  the  dusk  of  evening,  and, 
after  a  few  hours'  ride,  arrived  at  Heidelberg. 
The  ensuing  morning,  I  left  my  hotel  betimes,  and 
sauntered  forth  to  take  a  survey  of  this  singular 
town.  Heidelberg  is  romantically  situated  at  the 
base  of  a  lofty  mountain,  upon  the  banks  of  the 
limpid  Neckar.  Its  population  may  consist  of  ten 
or  twelve  thousand  souls ;  but  the  town,  much  com- 
pressed by  the  nature  of  its  locality,  spreads  over 
but  a  comparatively  small  extent.  The  attention 
of  the  stranger  at  Heidelberg  is  speedily  arrested 
by  the  ruins  of  that  mighty  castle,  which  even  yet 
attests  the  greatness  of  its  Imperial  builder,  —  the 
gorgeous  Charlemagne.  The  path  by  which  you 
ascend  to  the  ruin  is  steep  and  difficult ;   but,  once 


COLOSSAL  RUINS  AT   HEIDELBERG.  119 

there,  how  amplj  is  the  tourist  rewarded  for  his 
trifling  exertion.  I  passed  the  rude  and  moulder- 
ing outworks,  and  gained  at  length  the  lofty  ter- 
race, that  commands  the  whole  ;  and  here  burst 
upon  me,  in  all  its  majesty,  the  vastness  of  the 
scene.  From  this  point,  the  filled  eye  measures 
the  dizzy  height  of  the  massive  battlement  with 
its  rich  and  curiously  wrought  facade,  frowning 
above  the  fearful  precipice  it  overhangs.  Anon  it 
pierces  the  depths  of  the  gaping  fosse,  and  the 
spectator  involuntarily  shudders  lest  the  frail  sup- 
port upon  which  he  leans  should  fail,  and  precipi- 
tate him  into  the  dreadful  abyss.  Rivet  thy  gaze, 
oh  Man,  upon  these  walls,  now  crumbling  to  de- 
cay, whose  wonderful  solidity  and  strength,  would 
have  laughed  the  siege  to  scorn,  and  hurled  back, 
unscathed,  the  dread  missiles  of  modern  warfare ; 
and  reflect  how  impotent,  in  their  very  strength, 
are  the  finite  works  of  thy  race,  when  contrasted 
with  the  omnipotence  of  God ;  a  flash  of  the  red 
lightning  of  Heaven,  and  the  proud  monuments, 
which  would  have  defied  the  corroding  assaults  of 
Time,  melt  into  nothingness  away,  and  the  very 
places  where  they  were  are  forgotten.  So  is  it, 
and  so  will  it  be,  until  Time  himself  shall  be 
merged  in  the  abyss  of  eternity.  I  remained  for 
hours  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  these  mighty 
ruins,  until  the  waning  day  admonished  me  it  was 
time  to  quit  the  spot. 

Emerging  from  the  massive  portal,  and  winding 
along  the  side  of  the  mountain,  I  struck  at  last 
upon  a  path  that  conducted  me   through  the  wood 


120  HEIDELBERG. 

to  a  lofty  terrace,  where  were  distributed  seats 
for  the  accommodation  of  tired  pedestrians.  From 
this  terrace  I  enjoyed  a  lovely  and  extensive  view  ; 
the  town  of  Heidelberg  was  spread  out  like  a 
map  at  my  feet,  and  the  rapid  Neckar  was  rolling 
onward  to  the  Rhine  its  transparent  wave.  Far 
off  in  the  distance,  like  a  silvery  thread,  might  be 
discerned  the  paternal  river,  winding  ever  onward 
his  swift  and  devious  course. 

It  is  at  a  time  like  this,  when  the  mellow  twilight 
is  shedding  its  soft  yet  saddening  influence  over  all 
the  scene,  and  such  a  scene,  that  the  soul  becomes 
more  tremblingly  alive  to  the  beautiful  in  nature. 
It  may  be,  perchance,  that  those  vague  images  of 
the  ideal,  \\\\\c\\  seem  ever  to  hover  around  a  spot 
like  this,  are  exercising  over  our  reasoning  faculties 
their  mystic  and  unseen,  yet  most  powerful  influ- 
ence, disposing  the  mind  to  those  dreamy,  delicious 
reveries,  which  have  but  little  in  common  with  the 
dull  ;ind  daily  world  of  reality.  It  may  be,  that, 
peopling  the  wide  solitude  with  creatures  of  its 
own,  that  wondrous  power,  the  imagination,  strikes 
upward  with  more  untiring  wing.  It  is  certain,  at 
least,  whatever  reason  be  assigned,  that,  to  the 
lover  of  Nature,  never  does  his  fair  mistress  ap- 
pear more  beautiful,  than  when,  yet  glowing  in 
the  warm  tints  of  a  setting  sun,  she  prepares  to 
put  aside  day's  gorgeous  robe,  for  the  russet  garb 
of  eve.  There  are  men,  no  doubt,  who  can  look 
upon  the  fair  or  sublime  in  the  natural  world,  and 
feel  but  little  emotion  ;  not  more,  perchance,  than 
might  be  excited  by  the  view  of  a  fine  street  or 


A   TRAVELLING   COMPANION.  121 

house ;  but  there  are  others,  and  it  may  be  less 
happy,  in  whose  bosoms  the  presence  of  external 
loveliness  avi^akes  the  responsive  chord,  and  causes 
it  to  vibrate  with  sweetest  harmony. 

Upon  descending  to  the  hotel,  my  landlord  in- 
formed me,  that  there  was  a  young  man,  arrived 
that  day,  purposing  to  journey  the  same  way  with 
myself,  who  would  like,  if  agreeable  to  me,  to  be 
for  a  time  my  travelling  companion.  I  signified 
my  assent,  and  was  accordingly  introduced  to  him. 
He  was  a  young  physician  from  Holland,  directing 
his  steps  towards  the  head-quarters  of  his  art, 
Paris,  for  the  purpose  of  giving  the  last  finish  to 
his  education.  As  is  usual  with  his  professional 
countrymen,  he  conversed  with  considerable  fluency 
in  several  languages,  and,  in  short,  was  quite  an 
agreeable  person  for  a  compagnon  de  voyage. 

I  quitted  Heidelberg,  its  romantic  valley  and  its 
haunted  ruins,  with  regret,  but  the  vocation  of  the 
traveller  allows  only  a  limited  scope  to  such  a  feel- 
ing ;  new  sights  intervene,  and  it  speedily  wears 
away.  The  next  city  where  we  halted  to  breathe 
and  look  about  us  was  Carlsruhe  ;  it  is  a  handsome, 
well-built  town,  of  modern  construction.  There 
is  something  singular  in  its  laying  out ;  the  prin- 
cipal streets  diverge  in  all  directions  from  the  Ducal 
Palace,  as  rays  of  light  from  a  focus,  giving  the 
whole  city  somewhat  the  appearance  of  an  out- 
stretched fan,  as  travellers  have  often  remarked  of 
it.  In  the  original  German,  Carlsruhe  signifies  the 
rest  of  Charles,  and  the  town  is  supposed  to  have 
owed  its  origin  to  the  vow  of  a  Royal  hunter,  who, 
16 


122  BADEN. 

exhausted  by  fatigue,  found  repose  beneath  the 
foliage  of  a  tree,  that  grew  upon  its  site,  and  after- 
wards, in  gratitude  to  the  hospitable  spot,  found- 
ed a  city,  whose  name  recalls  the  singular  circum- 
stance of  its  origin.  At  present,  Carlsruhe  is  a 
handsome,  populous  town,  and  capital  of  the  Grand 
Duchy  of  Baden. 

From  Carlsruhe  we  proceeded  on  to  that  most 
fashionable  of  fashionable  watering-places,  far-famed 
Baden-Baden.  Although  the  season  had  passed  its 
zenith  at  the  time  of  our  arrival,  still,  enough  of 
brilliancy  remained  to  convince  us  what  that  season 
must  have  been,  at  its  height.  As  at  Wiesbaden, 
there  is  here  an  extensive  temple  dedicated  to  the 
gay  train  of  pleasures.  Dissipation  certainly  pre- 
vails to  a  great  extent  at  Baden  ;  many  of  the 
fashionable  guests  seem  to  divide  their  time  be- 
tween the  gaming-table  and  the  ball-room,  and 
vast  sums  of  money  daily  change  hands,  through 
the  help  of  rouge  et  noir  and  roulette ;  still,  on  the 
surface,  all  appears  gay  and  happy. 

In  the  evening  there  are  brilliant  reunions,  where 
fair  women  and  brave  men  circle  in  the  voluptuous 
waltz,  or  glide  through  the  soft  mazes  of  the  sen- 
timental quadrille ;  in  fine,  Baden  is  a  spot  where 
the  people  appear  determined  to  enjoy  themselves 
at  all  hazards. 

In  the  large  edifice  before  mentioned,  there  is 
a  fine,  spacious  hall,  appropriated  as  a  salle  a  man- 
ger. Here  every  visitant  at  the  place,  who  wears 
a  tolerable  coat,  may  be  accommodated,  at  a  rea- 
sonable price,  with  an  excellent  table  d'hote,  and 


TFIE   CASTLE.  123 

the  best  wines  that  France  and  Germany  can 
afford.  The  locality  of  this  watering-place  is  very 
beautiful.  Situated  at  one  extremity  of  the  Black 
Forest,  it  spreads  along  a  smiling  valley,  whose 
verdant  and  luxuriant  dress  appears  the  more  charm- 
ing from  its  strong  contrast  with  the  dark  and 
frowning  forms  of  the  everlasting  hills,  that  en- 
compass it  around. 

On  a  towering  eminence,  not  far  distant  from 
the  village  of  Baden,  is  to  be  seen  the  celebrated 
Castle,  which  so  much  attracts  the  attention  of  the 
intelligent  and  curious  visiter.  We  toiled  up  the 
rough  ascent,  and  entered  the  deserted  area ;  the 
outer  walls  are  yet  standing,  firm  in  their  massive 
strength,  yet  the  roof  is  gone  and  the  interior 
wears  a  dilapidated  appearance,  but  not  that  gen- 
eral character  of  ruin,  which  is  so  signally  and 
fearfully  impressed  upon  the  gigantic  remains  at 
Heidelberg.  The  Castle  stretches  along  the  moun- 
tain's side  to  a  considerable  height,  and  you  as- 
cend, sometimes  by  the  welcome  aid  of  rude  steps 
of  stone,  sometimes  along  the  steep  and  rugged 
path.  At  length  the  task  is  accomplished,  and, 
arrived  at  the  lofty  turret  that  surmounts  the  bat- 
tlement, you  look  forth  upon  a  landscape,  such 
as  the  genius  of  a  Claude  or  a  Salvator  might  have 
conceived  and  immortalized.  The  Black  Forest, 
with  its  undulating  bosom,  its  dense  and  inky 
foliage,  extends  wide  before  you,  until  its  sombre 
outline  blends  with  the  distant  horizon.  At  your 
feet  lies  embosomed  the  little  village  you  have  but 
just  quitted,  its   murmuring  rivulet   attenuated  to 


124  BADEN. 

a  thread.  Beneath  and  around  are  the  massive 
monuments  of  an  iron  age,  —  an  age  when  the 
sword  and  the  spear  controlled  mankind,  and  held 
in  bondage  the  immortal  mind  ;  but  an  age,  withal, 
of  noble  daring,  of  chivalry  and  romance.  How 
every  thing  is  changed  now.  Centuries  have  rolled 
by  to  swell  the  volume  of  the  past ;  to  the  fierce 
encounter  of  the  sword  has  succeeded  the  subtile 
warfare  of  the  pen.  Ingenuity  and  cunning  now 
supply  the  place  of  nerve  and  sinew.  Have  we 
lost  or  gained   by  the  exchange  ? 

Long  I  lingered  over  this  lovely  prospect,  and, 
reluctantly  taking  the  last  protracted  look,  that, 
alas,  must  come,  however  fair  the  object  that  rivets 
it,  I  commenced  a  descent  adown  the  steep  decliv- 
ity, and  speedily  found  myself  once  more  amid  the 
fashion  and  glitter  of  the  gay  world  at  Baden. 
The  spacious  saloons  were  well  filled ;  there  were 
cards,  there  was  music,  there  was  the  dance. 
Radiant  among  the  brilliant  concourse  was  one, 
whose  exquisite  features  and  expression  might  have 
answered  the  ideal  of  poetic  inspiration.  She 
was  English,  and  on  her  beautiful  countenance 
were  impressed  the  fairest  characteristics  of  her 
nation's  loveliness ;  the  tall  figure,  slight,  yet 
faultless  in  its  undulating  outline,  the  rich  profu- 
sion of  golden  hair,  the  soft  blue  eye,  so  elo- 
quent of  meaning,  the  delicately  rounded  cheek, 
where  the  hue  of  the  lily  contended  with  the 
rose's  faint  tinge,  —  all  were  hers,  and  yet  it  was 
not  altogether  even  this  rare  combination  that  so 
fascinated  the  gaze ;    it  was  something  beside.    I 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  BEAUTY.  125 

have  often  wondered  what  may  be  its  precise 
nature,  that  mysterious  power  we  call  Beauty, 
which  has  so  controlled  the  destinies  of  the  world, 
from  the  distant  date  of  Troy's  famed  war,  and 
that  after  period,  when  the  great  Triumvir  lost  a 
world  in  dalliance  with  Egypt's  dazzling  queen, 
even  to  this  more  unimpassioned  era,  that  Reason 
and  Religion  rule  with  milder  sceptre.  It  is  not 
perfect  regularity  of  feature,  it  is  not  faultless  sym- 
metry of  form ;  no,  nor  is  it  even  expression. 
What  then  ?  Can  it  not  be,  that,  by  a  well  nigh 
intuitive  process,  of  which  the  grosser  sense  is 
unconscious,  the  mysterious  soul  within  perceives, 
in  the  object  upon  which  its  energies  are  concen- 
trated, the  presence  of  that  congenial  fire^  which 
burns  brightly  in  its  own  fearful  composition,  and 
flies  forth  to  amalgamate  and  identify  itself  with 
it,  impelled  by  an  irresistible  desire  for  the  attain- 
ment of  that  perfect  sympathy,  without  which  it 
languishes,  even  with  all  its  immortal  and  infinite 
capability  to  enjoy  ? 

But  we  have  digressed  wide  from  our  subject, 
and  must  return  again  to  the  routine.  My  friend 
and  myself  passed  several  days  pleasantly  in  Ba- 
den, now  roaming  amid  the  lofty  hills  and  dense 
umbrage  of  the  Black  Forest,  now  mingling  with 
the  fashionable  loungers  in  the  promenades  or  sa- 
loons, until,  as  all  things  human  must  have  an  end, 
we  concluded  to  leave.  Accordingly,  one  drizzly 
morning  we  ensconced  ourselves  snugly  in  a  tight 
little  box  of  a  carriage,  and  set  off  at  a  round  pace 
on  the  route  for  Strasburg,  where  we  duly  arrived 


126  STRASBURG. 

without  adventure  or  accident.  The  hotel,  which 
opened  its  doors  to  our  luggage  and  selves,  was, 
as  is  usually  the  case  with  provincial  inns  within 
the  territories  of  la  belle  France,  a  large  and  to 
all  appearance  comfortless  building,  giving  but  lit- 
tle promise  of  good  cheer  or  a  hospitable  reception. 
In  both  these  important  items,  however,  it  is  but 
fair  to  state,  that  the  reality  agreeably  belied  the 
promise. 

Strasburg  is  situated  at  a  short  distance  to  the 
westward  of  the  Rhine ;  its  population  is  supposed 
to  exceed  fifty  thousand  souls.  The  city  has  a 
very  ancient  and  rather  a  dilapidated  appearance, 
embracing  within  its  wide  precincts,  if  we  except 
the  tomb  and  monument  in  honor  of  Marshal  Saxe, 
and  the  famous  Cathedral,  scarce  any  thing  to  in- 
terest the  stranger.  The  Cathedral  is  a  most  noble 
edifice ;  its  spire  towers  to  the  height  of  near  five 
hundred  feet,  the  whole  is  of  hewn  stone,  light 
and  graceful  in  the  extreme.  Indeed,  so  exquisite 
is  the  workmanship,  that,  at  a  trifling  distance, 
relieved  against  a  clear  sky,  it  exhibits  all  the 
nicety  and  finish  of  fine  lace  work.  It  is,  in  truth, 
wonderful,  that  solidity  and  elegance  should  have 
been  here  so  admirably  consulted.  Five  hundred 
years  have  elapsed  since  that  slender  spire  first 
reared  its  towering  form  toward  the  heavens.  It 
has  since  been  a  mark  for  the  storm  and  the  tem- 
pest ;  fierce  lightnings  have  played  about  its  sum- 
mit ;  and  the  uprooting  whirlwind  has  spent  in  vain 
its  rage  against  that  fairy-like  fabric.  In  order  to 
ascend  the  spire,  you  must  receive  a  permit  from 


THE   CATHEDRAL.  127 

the  Mayor  of  the  city.  After  some  trouble,  we 
succeeded  in  obtaining  the  desired  passport,  and 
soon  found  ourselves  winding  along  the  lessening 
staircase,  that  conducts  to  the  top.  The  body  of 
the  Cathedral  itself  is  extremely  lofty.  When  the 
ascent  was  completed  to  this  point,  we  stepped 
forth  upon  the  roomy  promenade  its  roof  affords, 
and  looked  abroad  upon  the  extended  and  riante 
scene.  The  country  around  Strasburg  is  rather 
level,  and  too  little  diversified  to  merit  the  appel- 
lation of  picturesque ;  but  even  in  this  there  was 
a  variety  to  us,  who  had  but  just  lost  sight  of  the 
towering  bluffs  that  mark  the  Rhine,  and  the  som- 
bre demesnes  of  the  Black  Forest.  The  extended 
sweep  of  country  was  clad  with  the  smiling  ver- 
dure of  the  season,  while  here  and  there,  from  its 
luxuriant  bosom,  towered  aloft  in  stately  groups 
the  majestic  trees  of  Alsace,  with  their  thick, 
spreading  foliage,  fancifully  studding  the  landscape. 
In  the  midst  of  this  unbroken  plain,  the  fertilizing 
Rhine  was  urging  on  his  impatient  stream.  As 
far  as  the  horizon's  extremest  verge  allowed  the 
eye  to  roam,  might  be  traced  his  glancing  waters, 
as,  sparkling  in  silvery  sheen,  they  hurried  on  to 
their  distant  bourne.  We  ascended  the  turret  as 
far  as  was  practicable.  Some  weeks  previous,  it 
had  been  struck  by  lightning,  and,  though  to  all 
appearance  not  materially  injured,  the  authorities 
had  deemed  it  expedient  to  interpose  their  veto 
upon  what  might  be  deemed  a  dangerous  curiosity. 
Neither  entreaties  nor  money  could  prevail  upon 
the  inexorable  warden  to  permit  further  progress. 


128  STRASBURG. 

It  is  customary  among  travellers  to  have  their 
names  inscribed  on  the  turret  walls  ;  this  custom 
insures  quite  an  emolument  to  the  engraver,  who 
receives  so  much  per  letter ;  thus  for  three,  four, 
or  five  francs,  as  the  length  of  your  appellation 
may  be,  you  have  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  your- 
self in  the  secure  possession  of  a  name  among  the 
loftiest.  But  it  is  time  to  leave  this  giddy  eleva- 
tion, and  resume  our  observations  upon  Terra 
Firma. 

The  curious  traveller,  as  he  roams  about  the 
dingy  streets  of  Strasburg,  is  struck  with  the  pre- 
dominance of  the  German  character  in  every  thing 
he  beholds.  The  city  has  been  in  the  hands  of 
the  French,  since  the  brilliant  reign  of  their  Grand 
Monarque,  Louis  Quatorze,  and  yet  every  thing  is 
essentially  German.  Manners,  customs,  language, 
all  attest  the  original  source  ;  so  difficult,  so  well 
nigh  impossible  is  it  to  strike  out  and  efface  those 
ingrained  impressions,  that  the  deep-seated  Love 
of  Country  creates  in  the  human  breast,  transmit- 
ted as  they  are,  with  the  vital  principle,  from  fa- 
ther to  son,  down  to  remote  posterity. 

We  have  a  parallel  instance  in  our  more  imme- 
diate vicinity.  I  allude  to  Canada.  For  many 
years,  this  country  has  been  an  appendage  to  the 
British  Empire  ;  yet  the  traveller  there  will  find 
prevalent  the  habits,  the  language,  the  very  feelings 
of  France.  The  people  look  upon  their  Insular 
rulers,  not  as  friends  to  protect,  but  as  tyrants  to 
depress  and  enslave  them  ;  and,  let  but  the  time 
and  opportunity  present,  they  will  rise  in  a  mass 
to  throw  off  the  hated  yoke. 


COLMAR.  129 

At  Stiasburg  my  travelling  companion  quitted 
me  for  Paris.  1  must  confess,  that,  once  again  in 
France,  I  felt  a  strong  desire  to  relinquish  my  pro- 
jected course,  and  revisit  the  gay  Capital.  Like  all 
other  excitements,  that  of  travelling,  long  continu- 
ed, exerts  its  wearing  influence  upon  the  body,  and 
more  especially  the  mind  ;  our  mental  faculties 
are  taxed  beyond  the  limits  of  healthy  exertion  in 
digesting  the  constant  succession  of  novel  and  ex- 
citing material,  which  is  ever  offering.  As  is  the 
case  with  our  physical  being,  so  is  it  with  the 
nobler,  —  the  intellectual.  Occasional  repose  and 
relaxation  are  necessary,  and  essential  to  convert 
the.  varied  and  incongruous  mass  of  aliment  into 
healthy  and  nutritious  food.  From  too  great  a 
tension,  the  mental  elasticity  becomes  impaired, 
and  variety  itself  degenerates  into  sameness.  Nev- 
ertheless, on  the  borders  of  Switzerland,  I  could 
not  turn  my  back  on  that  romantic  country  ;  so, 
having  philosophically  discussed  the  pros  and  cons, 
and  appropriated  to  myself  the  parts  of  judge  and 
jury,  I  decided  ihe  matter  by  stepping  into  the 
diligence  for  Basle.  The  weather  was  drizzly, 
the  roads  heavy,  and  we  made  but  slow  progress 
in  our  lumbering  vehicle.  After  a  tiresome  ride 
of  several  hours,  we  reached  Colmar,  capital  of 
one  of  the  departments  of  Alsace.  This  is  a  town 
of  twelve  or  fifteen  thousand  inhabitants,  dingy  and 
dirty  enough  ;  two  or  three  hours  were  consumed 
before  the  diligence  was  ready  to  start  anew.  I 
passed  the  interval  partly  at  the  table  dliote  of  the 
hotel,  partly  in  strolling  along  the  sombre  streets, 
17 


130  BRIGHT  MOMENTS   IN  TRAVEL. 

as  far  as  my  fears  of  not  being  able  to  retrace  the 
darkening  way  would  allow  me  to  proceed.  At 
length,  to  my  great  satisfaction,  the  postilion 
sounded  the  welcome  call,  that  summoned  us  once 
more  a  nous  mettre  en  route.  Certes,  taken  in  the 
abstract,  it  cannot  be  deemed  a  pleasurable  method 
of  employing  the  slow-pacing  hours  of  night,  that 
of  rolling  them  away  in  a  stagecoach.  In  order 
to  relish  this  mode,  a  man  must  be  the  possessor 
of  an  unruffled  conscience,  or  else  endowed  with 
what  is  equivalent,  a  most  quiescent  state  of  nerves. 
There  is  something  in  the  rumbling  of  wheels,  the 
cracking  of  whips,  mingled  with  the  discordant 
notes  of  steed  and  driver,  strangely  inimical  to 
the  soothing  influence  of  sleep.  Yet  will  Time  fly 
swiftly  by,  however  we  load  his  untiring  wings. 
The  sable  mantle  of  night  is  gradually  withdrawn ; 
the  first  misty  grey  of  early  dawn  ushers  into  birth 
another  day  ;  the  golden  streaks,  that  shoot  athwart 
the  sky,  herald  the  rise  of  another  glorious  sun, 
and  lo !  a  World  is  awakened  from  its  slumber. 

While  in  contemplation  of  these  admirable  phe- 
nomena, and  not  the  less  so  for  their  being  thus 
constantly  repeated,  perchance  is  the  way-worn 
traveller  more  to  be  envied  than  the  man  of  ease, 
who  consumes  away  the  day's  bright  youth  in 
dreamy  lethargy,  all  unconscious  of  that  soft,  elas- 
tic balm,  which  Nature  diffuses  through  his  bosom, 
who  early  wooes  her  charms.  But  this  is  a  matter 
of  taste,  and  I  shall  not  further  discuss  it ;  de  gus- 
tihus  non  est  disputandum,  saith  the  old  Latin.  It 
is  a  good  axiom,  therefore  we  will  once  more  to 
our  journey  for  the  venerable  city  of  Basle. 


CHAPTER    X. 

Basle.  —  The  Drei  Konige  von  Coin.  —  Disappointed  Travellers. — 
Remarks  on  Basle.  —  Fellow  Travellers  to  Berne.  —  Stop  of  the 
Diligence  at  Midnight.  —  Remark  of  Diderot.  —  Sceneiy  near 
Berne.  —  Promenade.  —  Lausanne.  —  Rousseau.  —  His  Concep- 
tion of  Julie.  —  Lake  of  Geneva.  —  Gibbon.  —  Description  and 
Account  of  Lausanne. 

The  morning  was  not  far  advanced,  when  our 
vehicle  rolled  in  over  the  narrow,  antiquated  thor- 
oughfares of  Basle.  Sonorously  did  the  postilion 
crack  his  whip,  and,  cheerily  dashing  forward  with 
accelerated  speed,  the  well  nigh  jaded  animals 
acknowledged  the  congenial  sound.  We  drew  up 
at  the  bureau  de  diligence,  and  I  lost  no  time  in 
exchanging  rny  present  accommodations  for  the 
more  comfortable  and  stationary  ones  to  be  enjoyed 
at  the  Drei  Konige  von  Coin,  reputed  the  best 
hotel  in  Basle.  If  for  no  other  reason,  I  should 
have  certainly  selected  it  for  the  name.  Having 
so  recentlv  returned  from  a  visit  to  Cologne, 
where,  in  its  Cathedral,  I  beheld  the  tomb  of  those 
three  redoubtable  Magi  and  their  three  heads  like- 
wise, I  had  not  as  yet  been  able  to  divest  myself 
of  the  sympathy  that  any  thing  appertaining  to 
them  would  naturally  tend  to  excite. 

The  situation  of  this  hotel  is  agreeable  and  com- 
modious. It  fronts  upon  one  of  the  principal 
streets,  and,  directly  in  its  rear,  course  the  career- 


132  BASLE. 

ing  waters  of  the  impetuous  Rhine,  in  such  close 
proximity,  tliat  from  your  window,  with  rod  and 
fly,  you  might  draw  the  speckled  trout  (su])posing 
there  were  any)  from  his  native  element  with  the 
utmost  convenience. 

It  was  the  season  for  travelling.  Switzerland 
was  covered  with  its  annual  swarm  of  tourists, 
and  the  Drei  Konige  von  Cola  had  its  full  share. 
A  hotel,  when  well  patronized,  is  generally  well 
superintended,  and  vice  versa  ;  consequently  we 
had  nothing  to  complain  of,  respecting  either 
lodgings  or  table  d^hote,  at  the  "  Three  Kings." 
Among  the  company,  as  it  were  by  sympathy,  I 
speedily  singled  out  a  compatriote  of  mine  own,  a 
very  stout,  elderly  lady,  whose  husband  had  been 
long  settled  as  a  merchant  in  Paris.  Having  heard 
the  romantic  scenery  that  abounds  in  Switzerland 
much  extolled,  the  worthy  pair  resolved  at  length 
to  achieve  an  excursion  into  this  El  Dorado  of 
their  picturesque  imaginings,  and,  at  the  time  of 
my  visit  to  Basle,  they  had  actually  killed  some 
months  in  this  romantic  country,  and,  among  other 
things,  had  most  effectually  assuaged  their  longings 
for  the  Sublime.  The  old  lady  assured  me,  with 
a  most  grave  and  serious  countenance,  that  Rumor 
with  her  thousand  tongues  had  most  wilfully  dis- 
torted the  truth.  She  (the  lady,  not  Rumor,)  had 
seen  nothing  but  an  endless  chain  of  mountains, 
over  which  it  was  such  tedious  work  travelling, 
and  a  constant  succession  of  ponds,  which  the  peo- 
ple in  their  simplicity  termed  lakes;  and,  as  for  the 
cities   one  naturally   expects  to  see  in    a   country 


TRAVELLERS  IN  SWITZERLAND.        133 

one  has  heard  so  much  talked  of,  pshaw  !  all  their 
cities  together,  five  times  over,  would  not  make 
one  Paris.  She  had  resided  some  time  in  Zurich, 
and  was  there  informed,  that,  at  a  certain  season 
of  the  year,  the  women  in  that  city  were  attacked 
with  wasting  melancholy,  and  under  its  dark  in- 
fluence were  in  the  habit  of  resorting  to  suicide  ; 
thus  bidding  a  simultaneous  adieu  to  both  terres- 
trial sorrow  and  fleshly  tabernacle.  Fearing  that 
the  same  unhappy  result  might  obtain  in  her  case, 
she  lost  no  time,  upon  the  advent  of  the  unpropi- 
tious  season  before  alluded  to,  in  leaving  a  very 
respectable  interval,  as  a  cordon  sanitaire,  between 
herself  and  the  ill-fated  city,  and  had  thus  far  ar- 
rived (at  Basle)  on  her  way  home,  having  provi- 
dentially completed  alive  the  tour  of  this  much 
misrepresented  country. 

It  is  true  enough,  that  a  long  residence  in  Paris, 
with  the  daily  custom  of  its  numerous  comforts 
and  innumerable  luxuries,  tends  much  to  unfit  one 
for  an  agreeable  sojourn  in  any  other  part  of  the 
European  continent.  //  n^y  a  qu^un  Paris,  et  fy 
tiens,  says  the  play,  and  so  it  is.  Yet,  with  all  due 
allowance  for  this,  I  could  not  but  be  considerably 
amused  at  the  (to  me)  humorous  recital  of  peevish 
disappointment,  experienced  by  this  good  lady,  as 
her  unaccustomed  eye  glanced  over  the  soul-stirring 
tableau  of  Swiss  scenery,  and  at  her  nervous  anx- 
iety to  enter  again  the  barriers  of  the  great  city, 
where,  satisfied  with  its  miniature  world,  she  might 
lose  the  remembrance  of  her  ill-omened  excursion, 
in  the  peaceful  enjoyment  of  the  true  to  xaXov,  Rest. 


134  BASLE. 

The  city  of  Basle  is  probably  the  most  ancient 
one  of  any  note  in  Helvetia.  In  its  vicinity  have  oc- 
curred many  of  those  heroic  and  memorable  encoun- 
ters, that  marked  the  long-continued  and  desperate 
struggles  of  the  Swiss  for  liberty.  Within  its  walls 
were  born  many  of  those  great  men,  whose  several 
careers  have  shed  an  unfading  lustre  over  the  land 
of  their  birth,  and  whose  senseless  ashes  yet  con- 
secrate a  site,  whence,  alas,  the  greatness  has  for 
ever  departed.  The  Cathedral  is  a  fine  old  edifice, 
interesting  chiefly  to  the  traveller  from  the  fact, 
that  within  its  enclosure  rest  the  mortal  remains 
of  Erasmus.  As  a  city,  stripped  of  the  reminis- 
cences that  cling  to  it,  Basle  presents  but  little  to 
detain  the  modern  traveller.  Its  narrow,  gloomy 
streets,  its  dingy  and  seemingly  tottering  edifices, 
can  adduce  no  other  claim  to  interest  than  their 
antiquity. 

Leaving  Basle  after  a  brief  stay,  1  set  out 
upon  the  route  for  Berne.  My  travelling  com- 
panions were  an  elderly  English  gentleman,  his 
better  half,  and  their  mutual  son.  The  English- 
man was  a  good  specimen  of  the  true  John  Bull 
breed,  in  the  middling  class  of  society.  As  for 
French  and  German,  he  was  entirely  innocent  of 
any  acquaintance  with  either  of  those  outlandish 
tongues,  esteeming  honest  English  the  only  lan- 
guage which  a  man  of  sense  should  condescend  to 
clothe  his  ideas  in.  The  son  was  a  stalwart  youth, 
who  rode,  if  1  may  be  excused  the  expression,  a 
perfect  steeple-chase  upon  the  hobby  of  pedestrian- 
ism.     According  to  his  story,  he  had  threaded  on 


FELLOW  TRAVELLERS  TO  BERNE.       135 

foot  the  frightful  defiles  of  the  Schwatzwald,  and 
many  marvellous  adventures  had  he  to  relate,  which 
took  place  upon  this  prolific  ground. 

In  addition  to  the  English  family,  there  were 
two  others  to  make  up  the  complement ;  these 
were  a  \0un2;  woman  and  her  infant  child.  The 
woman  was  French,  vivacious  and  agreeable,  as 
most  French  women  are.  Her  husband,  for  lack 
of  room  within,  was  posted  on  the  outside.  Not 
having  any  thing  better  to  do,  I  brushed  up  all  the 
French  I  was  master  of,  and  entered  into  conver- 
sation with  her ;  so,  what  with  talking,  reflecting, 
and  gazing  upon  the  glorious  orb  of  night,  that 
was  darting  her  silvery  rays  through  an  unclouded 
sky,  I  succeeded  passably  in  whiling  away  the 
hours  until  twelve  o'clock,  the  witching  noon  of 
night,  when  mortal  man,  whether  buried  in  sleep 
or  immersed  in  reverie,  is  most  particularly  averse 
to  being  disturbed.  At  this  critical  point  of  time 
occurred  one  of  those  alarming  and  inexplicable 
stops,  that  are  wont  to  try  the  patience  of  the 
diligence  traveller  in  these  regions.  Nearly  two 
hours  elapsed  before  we  were  again  en  route. 
But  how  was  the  interval  employed  ?  the  reader 
may  inquire.  Why,  principally,  in  that  infallible 
and  inexhaustible  amusement,  which  comes  home 
even  to  the  most  blase,  the  ministering  to  a  crav- 
ing appetite,  or  simply  in  eating  and  drinking ; 
pretty  much  the  only  things,  I  fancy,  that  a  man 
could  find  the  heart  to  attend  to,  when  disturbed  at 
such  an  unseasonable  epoch  of  "  the  twenty-four." 
Immediately  upon  coming  to  a  full  stop,  the  con- 


136  BERNE. 

ductor  informed  us,  that  refreshment  might  be 
found  at  a  neighbouring  auberge,  where  we  lost 
no  time  in  repairing,  and  discovered  already  pre- 
pared, (with  malice  prepense,  significant  of  the 
cold-blooded  combination  between  the  innkeepers 
and  the  knights  of  the  road,)  a  nondescript  meal, 
that  might  be  termed  dinner,  supper,  or  breakfast,  as 
fancy  dictated.  However,  it  was  sufficiently  sub- 
stantial, consisting  of  soupes,  legumes,  and  hot  meats, 
kept  in  countenance  by  sundry  dark  sentinels, 
yclept  bottles  of  wine.  The  various  viands  met 
with  a  warm  reception  from  the  guests,  and  speed- 
ily vanished  beneath  their  busy  appetites.  With 
their  disappearance  appeared  once  more  the  most 
enviable  of  all  possessions,  good  humour ;  for  it  is 
most  true,  that,  when  that  uncompromising  organ, 
the  stomach,  is  content,  and  good  digestion  follows 
in  the  train  of  good  appetite,  the  current  of  our 
thoughts,  we  will  suppose,  for  instance,  previously 
turbid,  swelling,  dangerous,  sinks  gently,  without 
effort  of  our  own,  to  its  accustomed  level,  and 
glides  smoothly  and  peacefully  on.  The  remark 
made  by  Diderot,  when  he  exclaims,  after  giving 
way  for  some  time  to  a  train  of  gloomy  reflection, 
Mais  je  vois  que  ma  digestion  va  mieux,  and  upon 
this  perception  breaks  into  a  livelier  strain,  though 
it  has  been  not  a  little  derided,  I  cannot  consider, 
nevertheless,  other  than  natural,  malgre  all  that  the 
enthusiastic  advocates  of  the  mind^s  entire  mastery 
over  its  material  sheath,  the  body,  may  assert  to 
the  contrary. 

The  traveller   who   enters    Switzerland    by   the 


SCENERY  NEAR  BERNE.  137 

route  I  selected,  will  perceive  in  the  vicinity  of 
Berne  the  first  bright  dawn  of  that  scenic  loveli- 
ness, that  Nature  has  so  profusely  lavished  upon 
this,  her  choicest  sanctuary.  The  cultivated  sweep 
of  country,  with  its  picturesque  undulations  of  hill 
and  slope,  smiling  with  verdure  or  decked  with 
the  waving  produce  of  honest  industry,  spreads 
gratefully  before  the  eye,  filling  the  heart  with 
pleasurable  emotions.  Afar  in  the  distance,  sternly 
contrasting,  rear  their  huge  heads  the  Bernese 
Alps ;  while,  towering  high  above  the  rest,  like 
the  colossal  Titan  of  mythology,  thy  hoary  summit, 
inaccessible  Jungfrau,  wrapped  in  eternal  snows, 
pierces  the  blue  arch  of  Heaven.  Adown  from  his 
mountain  home  rushes,  turbid  and  impetuous,  the 
swollen  Aar,  chafing  with  restless  wave  his  narrow 
bounds,  as  onward  he  hurries  to  repose  in  the  ex- 
tended embrace  of  the  Rhine. 

The  situation  of  Berne  is  fine  and  commanding. 
It  extends  far  along  the  declivity  of  a  hill,  and 
is  washed  on  three  sides  by  the  waters  of  the 
Aar.  The  city  is  very  deficient  in  width,  hav- 
ing but  one  or  two  streets,  which  run  parallel 
with  the  principal  avenue.  These  few,  however, 
make  ample  amends  for  other  deficiences,  by 
their  extreme  length ;  seeming  to  me,  as  I  pedestri- 
anized along  the  trottoirs,  well  nigh  interminable. 
The  houses  are  handsomely  built  of  stone.  The 
streets  are  kept  clean  and  in  good  order,  and  the 
entire  city  wears  an  appearance  of  substantial  com- 
fort and  solidity,  well  in  character  with  the  no- 
ble nature  of  the  scenery  that  surrounds  it,  and 
18 


138  BERNE. 

the  presumed   simplicity  of  its  republican  institu- 
tions. 

The   most  imposing  of  its  edifices  is  the  great 
Gothic  Cathedral,  which   the  tourist  should  by  no 
means   omit  to  visit.     In  close  contiguity  with  the 
Cathedral    is    the    favorite  promenade,   shaded   on 
each  side  with  rows  of  trees.    The  esplanade  which 
forms  the  walk  is  elevated  one  hundred  and  eight 
feet,   in   perpendicular  height,   above    the    level    of 
the  river.     It  is  secured  by  a  w^all   or  battlement, 
more  than   one  hundred  feet  in  altitude.     As  you 
stand  beside  the  trifling  parapet  which  terminates 
the  wall,  the  eye  embraces  a  magnificent  and  truly 
Swiss  spectacle,    brought   in    nearer  proximity  by 
the  dizzy  height  from  which  you  survey  it.     The 
whirling  Aar    rushes,   with  furious    eddy,    at  your 
feet,    and  anon,    bounding    over   a  ledge  of   rock, 
leaps  in  the  roaring  cascade,  and  whitens  to  foam 
in  the  distance.     Moving  along   the  paths  of  this 
romantic  promenade,   may  be   seen,  of  a  beautiful 
day,   groups  of  pedestrians,   influenced    by  all  mo- 
tives, exercise,  curiosity,  ennui, —  from  the  inquisi- 
tive traveller,  who  dwells  with  straining  gaze  upon 
this  fair,  wild  page  in  the  vast  and  varied  volume 
of  Nature,  to  the  simpler  inhabitant,  for  whom  fet- 
tering habit  has  made  even  sublimity  commonplace, 
and  yet,  mayhap,  all  unconsciously  to  himself,  has 
his   mind  become  the  recipient  of   more   enlarged 
and  expanded  views,  arising  from  that  sympathetic 
influence,  which  the   grand    in    the   natural  world 
exercises    over  the   not  less  wondrous  world,  that 
lives,   moves,  and   has   its  being  within  the  limits 
of  ench  human  br(>ast. 


LAUSANNE  —POETIC   ASSOCIATIONS.  139 

I  have  said,  that  at  Berne  the  scenery  of  Swit- 
zerland first  begins  to  fulfil  the  bright  promise  of  its 
excellence.  Nor  does  it  for  a  moment  disappoint 
the  traveller  of  that  promise,  as,  upon  leaving 
Berne,  he  pursues  his  way  onward  to  Lausanne  and 
the  Pays  de  Vaud.  Lausanne  !  sweet  yet  rugged 
Lausanne  !  how  lingers  the  pen  over  that  name ! 
How  with  almost  holy  joy,  greets  the  modern  pil- 
grim thy  picturesque  shores,  thy  love-breathing  lake! 
Nursery  of  genius,  from  thee  have  thundered  forth 
voices  electrifying  and  revolutionizing  the  world. 
Most  poetic  of  cities,  thou  livest  in  the  melancholy 
and  soul-subduing  page  of  Rousseau,  who  drank 
from  thy  pure  air  and  the  contemplation  of  thy 
lovely  lake,  (sleeping  like  an  infant  between  the 
bosoms  of  the  maternal  Alps,)  those  deep  draughts 
of  inspiration,  intoxicating  alike  soul  and  sense, 
now  exalting  their  possessor  to  an  Elysium  of  bliss 
the  grovelling  earth  dreams  not  of;  now  plunging 
him  into  an  abyss  of  wretchedness  the  vulgar 
never  can  know.  Yet  who  would  not  purchase 
that  fiery  essence  men  call  genius,  even  at  its 
price  of  blood ;  who  would  not  linger  out  the 
paltry  pittance  of  some  three-score  years,  steeped 
to  the  dregs  in  misery  (if  it  were  the  alternative) 
to  feel  conscious  of  that  glorious  possession,  of  that 
unquenchable  fire,  whicii,  ages  after  the  material 
shall  have  mouldered  to  its  parent  dust,  will  burn 
bright,  vivid,  intense,  upon  altars  erected  by  the 
universal  world  !  —  at  whose  undying  flanie  the 
kindred  spirits  of  every  age  shall  illume  their  lesser 
torch,    and    gaze  through   its    searching  rays  with 


140  LAUSANNE. 

Steadfast  and  unblenching  eye,  upon  that  mystic 
and  darksome  veil,  (thinner  to  them,)  which  di- 
vides the  mortal  from  immortality,  the  thing  cre- 
ated, noble  in  its  aspirations,  infinite  in  its  desires, 
from  its  fearful  and  omnipotent  Creator. 

I  confess  myself  an  admirer  of  Rousseau,  that 
is,  of  his  writings.  I  know  it  has  been  and  still 
is  the  fashion,  to  decry  him  as  a  man,  and  to  dilate 
upon  the  dangerous  tendency  of  his  works.  In 
his  naive  confessions,  he  has  thrown  open  to  our 
scrutiny  the  inner  chambers  of  his  very  soul ;  he 
has  exposed  the  workings  of  the  restless  heart, 
and  laid  bare  its  deep-seated  motives.  He  has 
shown  himself  as  he  was,  or  as  he  fancied  he  was  ; 
and  which  of  us,  under  a  similar  expose,  could  dis- 
play a  head  or  heart  exempt  from  vice  or  folly  ? 
Is  no  allowance  to  be  made  for  the  infirmities  of 
genius  ?  Shall  we,  who  have  hung  entranced  over 
its  sweetness  and  power,  grant  nothing  to  its 
weakness  ?  No ;  the  author  of  the  Heloise  may 
have  been  wavering  and  suspicious  ;  he  may  have 
yielded  too  often  and  too  long  to  the  sweeping 
current  of  powerful  impulse  ;  but  I  cannot  believe 
him  to  have  been  a  bad  man.  The  tender  heart 
which  diffused  itself  in  the  immortal  conception  of 
a  Julie,  might  have  been  an  erring,  but  could  not 
be  a  bad  one.  There  is  throughout  the  whole  of 
this  exquisite  character,  an  unfailing  spring  of 
sweetness,  sympathy,  and  love,  forgetful  all  of 
self,  which  shows  most  clear,  that  the  hidden 
source,  from  whence  it  was  fed  and  sprang  to  con- 
scious life,  was  not  other  than  the  offspring,  pure 


ROUSSEAU— CHARACTER   OF   JULIE.  141 

and  unalloyed.  The  character  as  a  whole,  1  ven- 
ture to  say,  is  the  most  attractive  delineation  of 
woman,  that  the  voice  of  the  magician  has  ever 
summoned  into  existence  ;  not  perfect,  it  is  true, 
for  with  such  we  can  have  but  little  sympathy. 
No ;  the  tenderness,  the  disinterested  love,  the 
resistless  passion,  the  irresolution,  the  frailty  of 
the  woman  ;  —  all  are  there,  in  the  midst  of  that  pu- 
rity of  soul,  which  flies  instinctive  from  aught  that 
contaminates,  that  angelic  sweetness,  that  perfect, 
absorbing  love,  attributes  with  which  we  are  fain 
in  our  dreams  to  clothe  the  sainted  denizens  of 
Heaven.  Strange  combination  !  —  the  weakness  of 
the  creature  for  a  moment  predominates  ;  but  Vir- 
tue and  Religion  step  in  to  still  the  guilty  murmurs 
of  Passion.  The  good  deeds  of  years  erase  the 
memory  of  a  single  weakness  ;  and  spotless,  un- 
sullied, its  stain  washed  away,  flies  back  the  eager 
soul,  its  probation  over,  to  the  infinite  Essence  of 
which  it  forms  a  part. 

But  it  is  not  as  a  champion  of  Rousseau  or  La 
Nouvelle  Heloise,  that  I  hold  the  pen  ;  it  is  rather 
the  magical  power  of  association,  that  forbids  me 
to  quit  so  hallowed  a  vicinity,  without  adverting 
to  him,  who  has  thrown  over  it  the  glowing  man- 
tle of  pure,  self-sacrificing  love.  Who  can  gaze 
upon  the  beautiful  lake,  or  wander  along  the  pic- 
turesque shores  of  Vevai,  or  gaze  on  thee,  sweet 
Clarens,  or  thee,  consecrated  Meillerie,  where 
burned  the  loves  of  a  Julie,  a  Saint-Preux, 
where  kindled  into  yet  nobler  sentiment  the  self- 
denying  friendship   of   a  Claire   or   an    Edouard, 


/ 


142  LAUSANNE. 

without  yielding  the  tribute  of  a  sigh  or  a  tear  to 
the  memory  of  the  sensitive  genius,  that  summoned 
these  beautiful  creations  hito  existence  ?  I  cannot 
forsake  this  subject  without  quoting  a  passage  from 
the  "  Confessions,"  in  which  Jean  Jacques  beau- 
tifully portrays  the  effect  produced  upon  his  mind, 
from  earliest  youth,  by  the  contemplation  of  this 
fair  lake  and  its  haunted  environs.      ' 

"  L'aspect  du  Lac  de  Geneve  et  de  ses  c^dmira- 
bles  cotes  cut  toujours  a  mes  yeux  un  attrait  par- 
'^^"''  ticulier,  que  je  ne  saurois  expliquer,  et  qui  ne  tient 
pas  seulement  a  la  beaute  du  spectacle,  mais  a  je 
^"^  ne  sais  quoi  de  plus  interessant  qui  m'aifecte  et 
^';  m'attendrit.  Toutes  les  fojis  que  j'approche  du 
pays  de  Vaud,  j'cprouvc  une  iriipression  composee 
du  souvenir  de  IMadame  do  Warens  qui  y  est  nee, 
de  mon  pere  qui  y  v^noit,  de  Mademoiselle  de 
Vulson  qui  y  eut  les  premices  de  mon  coeur,  des 
plusieurs  voyages  de  plaisir,  que  j'y  fis  dans  mon 
enfance,  et  il  me  seml)le  de  quelque  autre  cause 
encore  plus  secrete  et  plus  forte  que  tout  cela. 
Quand  I'ardent  desir  de  cettp  vie  heureuse  et  douce 
qui  me  fuit.  ef  poiir  laquelle  j'etois  ne,  vient  en-  ' 
flammer  mon  imagination,  c'est  toujours  au  pays' 
de  Vaud  pres  du  lac,  dans  les  campagnes  charman-  . 
tes,  qu'elle  se  fixe.  II  me  faut  absolument  un  verger' 
au  bord  de  ce  lac,  et  non  pas  d'un  autre  ;  il  me 
''^*''*^  faut  un  ami  siir,  une  femm§  aimabJe,  une  vache, 
un  petit  bateau.  Je  iie  jouiraT^^ajoais  d'un  bon- 
heur  parfait  ,  sur  la  terre  que  quand  j'aurai  tout 
cela.  Je'*ris  de  la  simplicite  avec  laquelle  je  suis 
alle,    plusieurs    fois    dans    ce    pays-la,   uniquement 


THE   LAKE   OF  GENEVA.  143 

pour   y  chercher    ce    bonheur  imaginaire.     J'etois      •    j. 


toujours  surpris  d'y  trouver  les  habitans,  surtout 
les  femmes,  d'un  tout  autre  caractere  que  celui 
^«^""que  j'y  cherchois.  Le  pays  et  le  peuple  dont  il 
est  couvert  ne  m'ont  jamais  paru  faits  Pun  pour 
I'autre."  * 

The  beauty  of  this  extract  must  be  an  excuse 
for  its  length ;  but  turn  we  from  the  visionary 
Rousseau,  with  his  Ideal  Love,  to  one  yet  more 
identified  with  this  city  of  the  memory,  the  stately 
historian  of  Rome's  Decline  and  Fall.  His  char- 
acter has  been  thus  briefly  sketched  by  the  most 
inspired  poet  of  modern  times  : 

"The  other  deep  and  slow,  exliaustiiig  thought, 
Aud  hiving  wisdom  with  each  studious  year, 

*  The  view  of  the  Lake  of  Geneva,  and  of  its  beautiful  shores, 
has  ever  possessed  for  me  a  charm,  which  I  know  not  how  to  explain, 
aud  which  spiings  not  entirely  from  the  beauty  of  the  scene,  but 
rather  fi-om  a  something  more  interestuig,  which  touches  and  softens 
me.  Whenever  I  approach  the  country  of  Vaud,  I  experience  a 
mingled  sentiment,  composed  of  the  recollections  of  Madame  de 
Warens,  who  was  bom  there,  of  my  father  who  resided  there,  and 
of  Mademoiselle  de  Vulson,  who  there  received  the  fii'st-fruits  of  my 
heart,  of  the  many  pleasurable  excursions  which  I  made  there  in  my 
earliest  youth,  and  it  seems  to  me  of  some  cause  more  difficult  to 
define,  yet  stronger  than  all  this.  When  the  ardent  desii-e  for  that 
peaceful  and  happy  life,  which  ever  eludes  my  grasp,  but  for  which 
I  was  created,  comes  to  inflame  my  imagination,  it  is  always  in  the 
Canton  of  Vaud,  near  the  lake,  amid  that  charming  sceneiy,  that  it 
centres  itself.  I  must  absolutely  have  an  orchard  near  the  border  of 
this  Lake  and  of  no  other.  I  must  have  a  tioie  friend,  an  amiable 
woman,  a  cow,  and  a  little  boat.  Never  upon  the  earth  shall  I  enjoy 
perfect  happiness,  unless  in  the  possession  of  all  these.  I  now  smile 
at  the  simplicity  with  which  I  have  many  times  visited  that  country, 
solely  to  seek  this  imaginaiy  felicity.  I  was  ever  surprised  to  find 
the  inhabitants,  and  especially  the  women,  of  a  character  totally  dif- 
ferent from  that  I  was  seeldng.  The  country  and  the  people  who 
inhabit  it  have  never  seemed  to  me  intended  the  one  for  the  otlier. 


>• 


144  LAUSANNE.  — GIBBON. 

In  meditation  dwelt,  with  learning  wrought 
And  shaped  liis  weapon  with  an  edge  severe, 
Sapping  a  solemn  creed  with  solemn  sneer. 

The  lord  of  irony,  that  master  spell 

Which  stung  his  foes  to  wrath  which  grew  from  fear, 

And  dooined  him  to  the  zealot's  ready  hell, 

Which  answers  to  all  doubts  so  eloquently  well." 

Gibbon  is  the  moral  antipodes  of  Rousseau,  with 
but  little  sentiment  and  less  feeling.  With  a  soul, 
searching  indeed  and  comprehensive,  but  unattuned 
to  the  touch  of  those  vivid  emotions,  that  sweep 
over  that  manj-stringed  instrument,  the  heart, 
thrilling  it  now  with  happiness  and  harmony,  anon 
sundering  with  reckless  blast  those  delicate  chords, 
whose  office  it  is  to  keep  in  tune  the  mysterious 
mechanism  of  existence.  Gibbon  possessed  an 
indefatigable  spirit  of  research,  a  restless,  perse- 
vering industry  ;  and  upon  these  he  has  based  a 
work,  massive,  long  in  building,  like  the  Pyramids 
of  Egypt,  but,  like  those  Pyramids,  shall  it  de- 
scend, colossal,  enduring  through  the  long  vista  of 
remotest  posterity. 

It  is  a  melancholy,  and  yet  a  wondrous  thing 
to  reflect  upon,  that  men  of  the  profoundest  eru- 
dition, men  who,  from  the  nature  of  their  pur- 
suits, may  be  presumed  to  have  thought  more 
deeply  than  the  herd  upon  the  absorbing  subject 
of  a  dread  hereafter^  should  so  oft,  either  under 
the  unblushing  front  of  withering  skepticism,  open- 
ly avow  their  unbelief,  or  strive,  by  the  covert 
attack  or  insidious  sneer,  to  undermine  the  glo- 
rious fabric  of  the  Christian  Faith.  Can  they, 
who  are  so  conscious  of  the  wild  energies  of  that 
imperishable  power,    that  traverses    the    elements. 


LAUSANNE   DESCRIBED.  145 

and  soars  beyond  the  material  into  the  illimitable 
regions  of  eternal  space,  wafted  on  by  the  untiring 
pinion  of  its  own  sublime  conceptions,  —  can  they 
suppose  this  godlike  power,  dividing  them,  as  it 
were  by  an  impassable  gulf,  from  their  species, 
was  given  but  to  animate  for  a  brief  segment  of 
time  a  frail  tenement  of  clay,  and  then,  like  that, 
to  perish  and  dissolve  away  in  the  dread  abyss  of 
annihilation  ?     No,  it  cannot  he. 

But  let  us  turn  from  the  names  that  have  render- 
ed it  famous,  and  cast  a  glance  over  the  city  of 
Lausanne  as  it  now  is.  Of  a  surety,  nowhere,  save 
in  Switzerland  or  the  mountain  fastnesses  of  the 
Tyrol,  would  men  have  had  the  persevering  cour- 
age to  perch  a  town  upon  such  a  site  as  this.  The 
bold,  uneven  character  of  the  soil,  now  shooting 
abruptly  into  hill,  anon  sinking  as  suddenly  into 
steep  declivity,  presents  a  formidable  barrier  to  sta- 
bility or  elegance  in  building.  Accordingly,  Lau- 
sanne unfolds  to  the  eye  a  confused  and  irregular 
appearance.  Its  buildings  seem  huddled  together  in 
intricate  masses,  with  but  little  reference  to  ele- 
gance or  order.  To  ascend  from  the  lower  to  the 
more  elevated  sections  of  the  city,  you  are  obliged 
to  thread  long  labyrinths  of  stairs  and  blind  alleys, 
cut  directly  through  with  the  greatest  economy  of 
space,  so  covert,  withal,  and  concealed  from  the 
uninitiated,  that,  if  you  hit  upon  them,  it  will  be 
at  random. 

But  you  must  not  look  here  for  the  true  glory  of 
Lausanne.     Glance  your  eye  around,  from  the  emi- 
nence you  have  just  reached.   wStand  beside  the  old, 
19 


146    LAUSANNE.  — THE  MAJESTY  OF  NATURE. 

venerable  Cathedral,  and  dwell  for  a  while   upon 
the  scene  that  expands  before  you.     The  careering 
sun  is  past  his  fierce  meridian,  his  beams,  shorn  of 
their  fiery  ardor,  fall  caressingly  upon  the  tranquil 
bosom  of  that  happy  Lake.    Look  beyond  to  where 
the  misty  Alps,  stern  guardians  of  the  scene,  exalt 
their    proud    heads    far    into    the    blue    empyrean. 
The  wide    expanse   of  water  lies  wrapped  in  mo- 
tionless repose  ;    not  a  ripple  ruffles  its  gilded  sur- 
face.    What  is  it  so  soothes,  so  tranquillizes,  that 
whilome  fluttering  mind.     It  is  the  holy  aspect  of 
Nature,  rejoicing  in  the  majesty  of  universal  still- 
ness.     It    is    the    balm    of  her    sacred    influence, 
staunching    the    heart's    deep    wounds,  which    the 
world    knows    not    how    to   heal.     Oh  ye,    whose 
bosoms  have    been    lacerated    by    hurts    that  defy 
Time's    vaunted    skill,    who    have    to    mourn   the 
stinging    ingratitude    of    friendship,     the     blacker 
treachery  of  love,  why  dwell  ye  yet  amid  the  friv- 
olous circles  of  this  superficial  world  ?     Why,  with 
that  aching  void  at  heart,  that  morbid  yearning  after 
sympathy   (divine    plant   which  grows    not  there), 
will  ye  move   in  that  painted   thing  of  artifice  and 
conventional  restraint  men  call  society  ?     Fly,  es- 
cape while  you  may  from  these  hollow,  heartless 
scenes.  Embosom  yourselves  in  the  protecting  sanc- 
tuary beneficent  Nature  throws  open  to  such  as  you. 
There,   in   daily  contemplation  of  her  calm,  majes- 
tic, undisturbed  features,  raise  your  purified  thoughts 
to  the   Omniscient  Framer  of  all,  and  forget   the 
petty  sorrows  of  a  day,  which  j^mVe  time  shall  soon 
merge  in  the  illimitable  ocean  of  Eternity. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

Steam-boat  Passage  to  Geneva.  —  Jerome  Bonaparte.  —  Amval  at 
Geneva. —  Scenery. —  Excursion  towards  Mont  Blanc.  —  Scenery 
on  the  Way.  —  Vale  of  Chamouni.  —  Ascent  of  Montanvert.  — 
Mer  de  Glace.  —  De  Saussm-e.  —  Further  Remarks  on  Chamouni. 
—  Return  to  Geneva.  —  Remai-kable  Grotto. 

From  Lausanne  I  took  passage  on  board  the 
steam-boat  for  Geneva.  The  distance  separating 
the  former  city  from  its  port  Oiichy  is  something 
less  than  a  mile.  There  is  a  gradual,  uninterrupted 
descent  all  the  way,  to  the  very  borders  of  the 
Lake.  The  steam-boat,  a  well  looking  craft,  plies 
between  the  extreme  points  of  Vevai  and  Geneva, 
touching  at  all  the  intervening  places  of  impor- 
tance. And  now  I  was  floating,  for  the  first  time, 
on  the  translucent  bosom  of  that  fairy  lake  ;  mer- 
rily did  the  rapid  bow  throw  aside  its  blue  waters, 
and  the  chasing  ripple,  widening  far  in  the  dis- 
tance, wrinkled  for  a  moment  the  glassy  serenity 
of  its  polished  surface.  Onward  we  sped.  In 
pleasing  succession,  villages,  hamlets,  and  spires 
studded  the  picturesque  shores.  To  enliven  the 
ear,  too,  there  was  music,  and  the  sons  of  song 
deemed  themselves  well  recompensed  with  the 
trifling  pittance  the  traveller  never  denies  to  the 
needy  minstrel.  The  assemblage  was  gay  and  well 
equipped,  like  a  party  of  pleasure  on  a  summer 
lake.       Among  the    company   was    sho\^n  me  the 


148        LAKE   OF   GENEVA.  — JEROME    BONAPARTE. 

ci-devant  Roi  de  Westphalie,  brother  of  Napoleon, 
Jerome  Bonaparte.  I  know  not  it"  it  be  so  with 
all,  but  in  my  breast  there  trembles  an  almost  pain- 
ful thrill,  as  I  gaze,  for  the  first  time,  on  aught 
intimately  connected  with  the  "  master  spirit  of 
an  age." 

There  stood,  yet  in  the  vigorous  prime  of  life, 
the  brother  of  a  man,  who,  by  the  colossal  ener- 
gies of  his  own  undaunted  mind,  succeeded  in 
erecting,  upon  the  ruins  of  a  dynasty  that  had 
flourished  for  centuries,  the  steps  that  led  to  his 
own  unparalleled  grandeur ;  the  man,  who  raised 
an  entire  family  from  the  dust,  and  seated  them 
on  thrones,  that  Kings  by  divine  right  w^ere  com- 
pelled to  abdicate  ;  and  his  fall  had  been  as  start- 
ling, as  meteoric,  as  his  rise.  Oh  God !  what 
changes  in  the  brief  span  of  a  single  human  exis- 
tence !  Brief,  did  I  say  ?  Not  so ;  for,  with  that 
burning,  concentrated  consciousness  of  life,  the 
tame  monotony  of  the  ordinary  routine,  occupied 
it  tenfold  the  vulgar  amount  of  time,  would  ap- 
pear but  short  in  the  comparison.  Life  should  be 
measured  by  sensations,  not  years.  But  to  return 
from  our  digression  to  the  Ex-King  of  Westphalia. 

The  countenance  of  Jerome  bears  a  close  resem- 
blance to  the  portraits  of  his  Imperial  brother. 
He  is  the  taller  by  two  inches  or  more,  and  pos- 
sesses the  Napoleon  figure,  compact  and  symmetri- 
cal. Upon  his  visage  is  stamped  that  grave  ex- 
pression, which  is  the  offspring  of  stern  experience 
and  bitter  reverse.  In  his  dress,  he  differed  not 
at  all  from  the  costume   of  a  private  gentleman. 


ARRIVAL   AT   GENEVA.  —  AMERICANS.  149 

No  star,  order,  or  decoration  bore  witness  to  the 
former  greatness  of  his  station.  The  prince  was 
fljing  from  Italy,  where  he  has  long  resided 
(at  Florence),  to  escape  that  terrific  scourge,  the 
cholera,  intending  to  pass  the  few  months  of  his 
absence  beneath  the  healthier  sky  of  Geneva. 
His  family  accompanied  him,  and  among  them  was 
a  daughter,  a  beautiful  girl  of  nineteen  or  twenty. 
The  w^atchful  policy  of  the  reigning  power  forbids 
a  Bonaparte  to  place  foot  on  the  soil  of  France. 
No  member  of  that  family  can  inhabit  a  kingdom, 
where  rose,  where  set,  shining  over  the  brightest 
pages  in  its  annals,  the  transcendant  star  of  Napo- 
leon. 

Arrived  at  length  at  Geneva,  I  paid  my  first 
visit  to  the  Hotel  des  Bergs,  and  there  took  lodg- 
ings. This  extensive  establishment,  one  of  the 
most  spacious  on  the  Continent,  is  pleasantly  sit- 
uated near  the  borders  of  the  Lake,  and  in  the 
immediate  vicinity  of  the  ramparts,  w^ith  their  pic- 
turesque promenades.  Among  the  guests  I  discov- 
ered many  of  my  countrymen,  who  were  tarrying 
here  in  hopes  that  favorable  news  from  Italy  niight 
soon  allow  them  to  cross  the  mountain  passes  of 
Cenis  or  the  Simplon.  Our  fashionable  country- 
woman, Mrs.  **^*,  was  at  that  time  resident  at 
the  Hotel,  delighting  her  friends  wdth  that  agree- 
able vivacity  of  manner,  and  easy  flow  of  conver- 
sation, which  have  ever  distinguished  her,  and 
there,  as  well  as  here  and  elsewhere,  the  bright, 
particular  cynosure  of  an  admiring  coterie. 

There  is  in    the    scenery  about  Geneva  a  rare 


150  GENEVA. 

combination  of  the  beautiful  and  the  sublime.  You 
have  the  vv'ide  expanse  of  lake,  and  the  "  blue 
rushing  of  the  arrowy  Rhone,"  while,  far  in  the 
distance,  frown  the  gigantic  summits  of  the  Ai- 
guille du  Midi  and  Mont  Blanc,  with  their  colossal 
groups.  From  these  you  may  turn,  if  such  be 
your  pleasure,  and  enjoy  the  picturesque  and  rural 
walk*  In  sooth,  there  is,  in  Geneva,  that  which 
will  content  the  lover  of  nature,  and  yet  not  dis- 
please him  that  loveth  cities.  There  one  may  court 
the  pensive  charms  of  solitude,  or  mingle  in  the 
busy  hum  of  men,  as  it  seemeth  him  best,  and  no 
one    saith  Why  ?  or  Wherefore  ? 

I  had  remained  in  Geneva  some  days,  and  was 
desirous,  should  an  agreeable  compagnon  de  voyage 
offer,  of  setting  out  on  an  excursion  to  the  Valley  of 
Chamouni.  As  no  such  agreeable  person  had  pre- 
sented himself,  I  was  one  day  debating  whether  it 
were  not  better  to  encounter  the  perils  of  the  jour- 
ney alone  than  remain  longer  inactive,  wdien  a 
French  gentleman  was  introduced  to  me  by  the 
maitre  dliStel.  He  observed,  with  a  truly  national 
suavity,  that  hearing  there  was  im  Monsieur  Amer- 
icain  about  taking  a  trip  to  Mont  Blanc,  and  being 
himself  bent  on  the  same  purpose,  he  had  taken 
the  liberty  to  request  an  introduction,  in  the  hope 
that  we  might  find  it  agreeable  to  travel  there  in 
company.  To  this  proposition  I  had  no  objection 
to  offer ;  so  we  made  the  necessary  contract  for 
carriage  and  driver,  prepared  what  little  baggage 
was  necessary,  and  set  off  on  our  excursion  with- 
out more  ado.     My  companion  I  found  to  be  pleas- 


EXCURSION   TO   THE   VALLEY   OF   CHAMOUNL      131 

ant  and  affable,  with  a  good  share  of  his  nation's 
volatility  ;  and,  bj  the  time  we  had  jogged  along 
a  mile  or  two  together,  nous  fumes  de  parfaitemefit 
hon  accord. 

Upon  leaving  Geneva,  you  speedily  strike  the 
frontier  of  Savoy.  The  scenery  around  you  al- 
most instantly  assumes  a  loftier  character,  and 
here  and  there  your  road  defiles  through  passes 
of  the  wildest  grandeur.  Towering,  inaccessible 
heights  shoot  abruptly  up,  on  either  side,  whose 
bare,  overtopping  crags  were  fit  dwelling-places 
only  for  the  young  of  the  mountain  eagle,  or 
the  sure-footed  chamois.  The  spectator  gazes, 
with  a  feeling  akin  to  terror,  upon  the  sublimity 
of  a  spectacle,  increased  tenfold  by  its  immediate 
contiguity.  It  is  then  there  comes  home,  laden 
with  conviction,  to  the  breast,  a  feeling  of  our  own 
insignificance.  Fall  but  a  pebble  from  these.  Na- 
ture's gigantic  battlements,  and  this  fleeting  unit 
of  existence  we  so  fondly  cherish,  is  snufifed  out, 
as  is  the  light  of  a  taper,  and  the  darkness  of  death 
closes  over,  mantling  with  impenetrable  veil  each 
trace  of  what  once  was.  How  anomalous  is  it, 
that  the  puny  passions  of  men  should  vent  their 
little  storm  amid  scenes  like  these.  War,  with  all 
its  grim,  blood-stained  features ;  the  death-strug- 
gle of  foe  fierce  grappling  with  foe  ;  the  distant 
volley,  scattering  its  invisible  messengers  of  de- 
struction ;  how  diminutive,  how  insignificant  all, 
in  the  presence  of  those  dread  altars,  erected  by 
an  Almighty  hand,  and  destined  to  endure  until 
the  firm  foundations  of  the  solid  earth  shall  dissolve 
into  nothingness  away. 


152     EXCURSION   TO   THE    VALLEY   OF   CHAMOUNL 

We  arrived  at  Sallenches  as  the  dusk  of  eve 
was  setting  in,  and  partook  for  the  night  of  such 
accommodations  as  the  hotel  there  afforded.  At 
early  dawn  the  ensuing  morning,  we  commenced 
an  ascent  to  the  celebrated  Vale  of  Chamouni.  In 
accomplishing  this  portion  of  the  journey,  the 
traveller  makes  use  of  a  light,  diminutive  vehicle, 
termed  char  a  banc.  In  this,  the  voyageur  is  seat- 
ed as  in  an  omnibus,  presenting  his  side  to  the 
moving  power.  The  vehicle  thus  designated  is 
made  extremely  narrow,  the  better  to  thread  those 
difficult  defiles,  that  beset  the  mountain  path. 
Driver  and  chai'  a  banc  being  at  length  provided, 
the  slow  and  laborious  ascent  was  commenced. 

The  resplendent  sun  was  shining  bright  and  high 
in  the  heavens,  when,  the  purgatory  of  initiation 
past,  we  stood  in  the  verdant  Vale  of  Chamouni. 
It  was  the  most  sublime  spectacle  I  ever  wit- 
nessed, as,  directing  my  eyes  above,  I  discerned, 
in  the  more  visible  majesty  of  near  approach,  the 
giant  form  of  Mont  Blanc  rearing  his  hoary  head, 
whitened  by  the  snows  of  innumerable  ages,  into 
the  freezing  regions  of  the  upper  air. 

Upon  entering,  for  the  first  time,  this  valley,  the 
traveller  seems  introduced  to  a  new  world.  He 
stands  upon  a  wonderful  strip  of  land,  which,  but 
for  the  adventurous  curiosity  of  modern  tourists,  had 
yet  remained  locked  unknown  in  the  icy  embrace 
of  encircling  Alps.  He  gazes  about  him  on  a 
scene,  that  mocks  the  slow  step  of  comparison. 
New  ideas  are  born  within  him,  as,  with  reeling 
sense,  he  scans  those  stupendous  mountains,  prop- 


VALLEY   OF   CHAMOUJNL  153 

ping  the  high  canopy  of  Heaven,  or  marks  those 
dashing  torrents,  as,  issuing  from  the  Glacier's 
dark  mouth,  resistless  even  at  tlieir  birth,  like  in- 
fant Hercules,  or,  as  sweeping  with  rapid  stream 
from  their  more  distant  mountain  homes,  they 
whirl,  lost  in  foam  and  rage,  at  his  very  feet. 
And  yet  the  vale  is  clad  in  smiling  verdure,  the 
mildness  of  the  temperature  invites,  the  rugged 
bosom  of  the  soil,  tempered  by  culture,  responds 
harmonious  to  the  wish  of  man.  Art  and  civiliza- 
tion are  leaving  their  traces  on  that  wild  retreat, 
where  savage  nature  was  wont  to  gambol  alone, 
magnificent,  undisturbed. 

It  was  late  in  the  month  of  September  at  the 
time  of  my  visit.  The  last,  lingering  days  of  la 
belle  saison  were  drawing  to  a  close,  and  the  tide 
of  travel  was  already  at  its  ebb.  However,  it  was 
but  little  matter  ;  one  goes  not  to  Chamouni  to 
see  the  world  of  art  or  society,  and  nature,  at  least 
to  my  eye,  looks  quite  as  lovely  where  there  are 
not  a  hundred  spectators  at  my  side  to  comment 
on  her  charms. 

Yet  we  had  no  dearth  of  company  at  the  little 
hotel  where  I  was  quartered.  They  were,  with- 
out exception,  French,  and  not  exactly  of  that 
class  most  congenial  to  my  fancy.  One  pleasant 
morning  it  was  proposed  to  ascend  Montanvert, 
and  a  party  of  us  consisting  of  ten  or  twelve, 
among  whom  were  several  ladies,  proceeded  to 
put  the  proposition  into  immediate  execution. 
Having  provided  ourselves  with  guides  and  mules, 
we  struck  out  upon  the  path  which  conducts  to 
20 


154  ASCENT  OF   MONTANVERT. 

the  mountain's  base.  A  light  snow  had  fallen  the 
day  previous,  and  the  air  was  chill  and  bracing. 
Mounted  on  our  mules  we  made  good  way,  and 
in  less  than  three  hours  reached  the  summit,  ele- 
vated more  than  three  thousand  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  valley.  The  path  is  at  times  of  a  very 
steep  and  precipitous  character,  where  a  single 
misstep  would  involve  both  animal  and  rider  in 
immediate  destruction.  It  is  really  edifying,  in 
such  passes  as  these,  to  observe  the  sangfroid  with 
which  your  mule  bends  his  head  over  the  shelving 
side,  and  gazes  on  the  gaping  precipice  beneath. 
Being  somewhat  unaccustomed  to  such  scenes,  I 
could  not  share  his  unconcern,  and,  although  I  back- 
ed him  to  the  top,  to  avoid  the  hard  work  of  climb- 
ing, I  trusted  to  no  one's  prudence  but  my  own  in 
the  less  difficult  process  of  descent. 

From  the  top  of  Montanvert  you  enjoy  a  near 
and  splendid  view  of  the  chain  of  Aiguilles,  and 
of  the  celebrated  glacier  termed  the  Mer  de  Glace. 
The  billows  of  this  sea  of  ice  rise  nearly  to  the 
altitude  of  Montanvert,  and  occupy  the  entire  ex- 
tent of  valley  between  it  and  a  peak  of  similar 
height  upon  the  opposite  side.  What  may  be  the 
depth  of  this  wondrous  sea  is  unknown  ;  but,  judg- 
ing from  the  distance  the  eye  can  penetrate  its  ter- 
rible chasms,  it  must  be  very  great.  Most  appropri- 
ately has  it  received  the  name  of  "  mer  de  glace," 
for  this  celebrated  glacier  appears  as  would  the 
billows  of  the  tempestuous  ocean,  seized  at  their 
highest  point  of  fury,  and  stricken  by  the  Almighty 
mandate  into  eternal  immobility. 


THE  GLACIER  OF  THE  MER  DE  GLACE.    155 

We  descended  the  precipitous  side  of  the  moun- 
tain to  that  point,  where  the  immense  glacier  is 
circumscribed  by  its  gigantic  form.  As  I  before 
remarked,  a  light  snow  had  fallen  upon  the  pre- 
vious day,  and  the  frozen  w^av^es  afforded  but  an 
unsteady  and  perilous  footing.  I  lingered  some 
while  in  the  contemplation  of  this  vast  and  novel 
feature  in  nature's  scenery,  which  Switzerland,  her 
favored  clime,  alone  developes  in  the  fullest  extent 
of  grandeur. 

My  ambition  did  not  induce  me  to  attempt  any 
thing  more  arduous  than  the  scaling  of  Montanvert ; 
and  I  must  confess  I  felt  but  small  desire  to  court 
a  doubtful  immortality  by  enrolling  my  name  amid 
those  of  the  adventurous  few  who  had  planted 
foot  on  the  giant  crest  of  Mont  Blanc.  I  think 
there  had  been  no  ascent  during  that  whole  season. 
European  tourists  seem  to  rest  satisfied  with  the 
fact,  that  their  nations  have  been  severally  repre- 
sented in  the  conquest  of  the  colossal  mountain  ; 
and  the  American  traveller  may  do  so  likewise. 
In  truth,  the  most  enthusiastic  seem  now  disposed 
to  admit,  that  even  the  gratification  of  a  commend- 
able philosophical  curiosity,  or,  as  it  more  fre- 
quently is,  that  of  another  less  excusable  trait,  may 
be  too  dearly  purchased  at  the  expense  of  frozen 
limbs  or  an  undermined  constitution.  Science  has 
already  shed  its  lustre  over  these  remarkable  and 
snow-clad  regions  ;  their  geology  and  physical  phe- 
nomena have  been  developed  to  the  world's  eye 
by  the  wisdom  and  untiring  perseverance  of  a  for- 
mer generation.     The  celebrated  naturalist  of  Gen- 


156  FURTHER  REMARKS   ON   CHAMOUNI. 

eva,  De  Saussure,  has  done  more  than  the  whole 
host  of  travellers  or  geologists  to  clear  away  the 
mysteries,  that  clung  around  the  Titanic  mountain. 
He  was  the  first  to  scale  its  summit;  and  the  result 
of  those  experiments  he  has  left  recorded,  as  a  be- 
quest to  our  later  age,  most  satisfactorily  elucidates 
all  which  was  before  unknown  respecting  the  geo- 
logical phenomena  of  that  lofty  region,  as  well  as 
the  more  remarkable  properties  of  the  surrounding 
atmosphere,  its  intense  coldness  and  rarity,  with 
the  effect  it  produces  upon  the  respiratory  organs, 
and  the  general  functions  of  the  animal  economy. 

I  passed  two  days  in  dwelling  upon  the  wild 
and  wonderful,  to  which  this  celebrated  vale  seems 
consecrated.  Chamouni  is  emphatically  a  region 
sui  generis,  and  no  other  spot  in  the  known  w^orld 
can  be  brought  into  comparison  with  it.  Let  the 
reader  conceive  the  wildest  extremes,  that  Nature 
is  wont  elsewhere  to  set  apart  by  the  barriers  of 
distance  and  season,  brought  here  at  the  same 
moment  of  time,  in  closest  contiguity.  The  huge 
glacier  rolls  onward  his  frozen  billows,  until  they 
invade  the  province  of  smiling  verdure  and  of  wav- 
ing grain.  The  eye  turns  from  the  rugged  and 
sterile  rock,  around  which  are  piled  the  snows  of 
countless  ages,  to  rest  upon  the  field  ^f  the  hus- 
bandman, rich  with  the  products  of  a  grateful  soil. 
Winter,  spring,  summer,  autumn,  seem  here  to 
blend,  and  maintain  over  this  little  territory  a  si- 
multaneous empire. 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  a  drizzly  and  disagree- 
able day,  that  we  took  leave  of  Chamouni.     The 


RETURN   TO    SALLENCHES.  157 

shades  of  evening  were  fast  closing  in,  as,  alighting 
from  our  rude  vehicle,  heartily  fatigued  by  the 
arduous  nature  of  the  excursion,  we  hastened  to 
avail  ourselves  of  such  accommodation  for  refresh- 
ment and  repose,  as  the  indifferent  auherge  at 
Sallenches  could  afford.  Early  upon  the  succeed- 
ing day,  we  recommenced  the  journey  to  Geneva. 
I  have  before  observed,  that  the  Savoy  route  abounds 
in  natural  features  both  sublime  and  picturesque  ; 
but  I  omitted  then  to  mention  what  may  be  con- 
sidered by  far  the  most  striking  natural  curiosity 
in  this  particular  section  of  the  country.  I  refer 
to  a  remarkable  grotto,  scooped  out  by  the  hand  of 
Nature  in  a  perpendicular  wall  of  towering  rock, 
midway  between  its  base   and   summit. 

This  singular  entrance  into  the  very  bosom  of  the 
living  rock  was  discovered  by  De  Saussure,  and, 
since  his  time,  has  awakened  the  speculations  and 
excited  the  wonder  of  visiters  from  every  clime.  At 
the  cottage  where  your  vehicle  remains,  en  atten- 
dant, you  are  furnished  with  a  guide,  and,  as  the 
walk  is  but  trifling,  you  set  out  at  once  upon  the 
excursion.  In  order  to  reach  the  grotto,  you  must 
follow  a  zigzag  path,  that  has  been  constructed  with 
much  difficulty  and  expense  along  the  steep  wall 
of  rock.  The  ascent  is  not  a  little  fatiguing. 
At  length  a  sharp  angle  in  the  path  discloses,  just 
above  you,  a  view  of  the  wished  for  aperture.  It 
is  of  moderate  size,  and  at  first  glance  would  ap- 
pear to  you  rather  as  made  by  the  hand  of  man, 
than  the  work  of  Nature.  From  the  fact  of  this 
being  the  only  extensive  grotto  I  ever  enjoyed  the 


158  REMARK AliLE    GROTTO. 

opportunity  of  minutely  surveying,  it  would,  of 
course,  be  impossible  for  me  to  draw  any  compar- 
ison, founded  on  personal  observation,  between  its 
general  appearance,  and  that  of  other  curiosities 
in  the  natural  world  of  a  similar  character.  There 
is  here  but  little  of  that  fantastic  grouping  of  sta- 
lactite and  glittering  spar,  wdiich  the  reader  will 
recall  as  connected  with  a  modern  traveller's  vivid 
description  of  the  celebrated  grotto  of  Antiparos. 

Preceded  by  guide  and  flambeau,  I  pursued  the 
course  of  this  mysterious  passage,  as  it  wound 
along  its  intricate  way,  piercing  deep  into  the  heart 
of  the  living  rock.  The  cavern  is  cold  and  damp ; 
its  walls  now  bound  a  wide  and  spacious  area, 
anon  they  are  so  constrained  as  scarce  to  admit 
two  abreast.  The  ceiling,  a  moment  before  lofty, 
is  now  depressed  to  a  degree,  that  compels  the  ad- 
venturer to  creep  through  a  narrow  passage,  that 
w^ould  well  nigh  seem  to  debar  further  progress.  In 
a  moment  you  emerge  into  a  freer  space,  and  reas- 
sume  the  upright  position.  Passing  onward,  new 
wonders  meet  the  eye.  The  rude  pave,  worn  by 
a  ceaseless  exudation  from  wall  and  ceiling,  is 
moulded  into  a  thousand  irregular  and  fantastic 
shapes.  Near  the  extremity  of  the  cavern  yawns 
an  abyss  of  unknown  depth.  Having  provided 
ourselves  with  stones  for  the  purpose,  we  com- 
menced casting  them  down  the  gaping  descent ; 
the  noise  reverberated  upon  the  ear  in  loud  reports 
for  several  seconds,  and  then  faded  away  gradu- 
ally, impressing  upon  the  mind  a  thrilling  conscious- 
ness of  the  fathomless  depth  of  that  gloomy  chasm, 


REMARKABLE   GROTTO.  159 

on  whose  brink  we  were  standing.  Passing  on- 
ward over  the  narrow  ledge  between  the  mouth 
of  the  chasm  and  the  wall,  jou  arrive  ere  long  at 
the  termination  of  the  perilous  path.  A  pool, 
whose  waters  are  black  as  ink,  and  of  intense  cold- 
ness, presents  an  impassable  barrier  to  further  pro- 
gress. Nevertheless,  as  I  was  informed  by  the 
guide,  there  have  been  those  hardy  enough  to  at- 
tempt its  passage,  with  a  view  to  prosecute  fur- 
ther researches  on  the  opposite  side,  if  indeed 
there  be  any.  The  rash  attempt,  of  course,  ever 
failed. 

There  is  a  painful  and  perhaps  superstitious  thrill 
comes  over  the  spectator,  as  he  gazes  on  those 
gloomy  and  mysterious  waters.  The  mind  asks 
itself.  From  whence  is  their  origin  ?  Whither  do 
they  flow  ?  All  is  veiled  alike  in  doubt  and  dark- 
ness. It  seems  to  me,  indeed,  but  little  wonder- 
ful, that  the  ancients  should  have  invested  the 
appearances,  which  Nature,  as  if  to  set  all  rules  at 
defiance,  occasionally  assumes,  with  images  of  the 
preternatural  and  unearthly.  Even  in  our  later 
day,  when  the  results  of  Learning  have  enlightened 
the  world ;  when  untiring  Science  has  partially 
removed  the  veil  behind  which  the  arcana  of  Na- 
ture had  heretofore  been  concealed,  and  revealed 
to  us  the  secret  of  much  of  her  seeming  mystery, 
—  is  there  not  yet  often  elicited,  by  the  immediate 
presence  of  her  more  wondrous  phenomena,  a  feel- 
ing of  deep  awe,  that  owns  (though  we  like  not  to 
allow  it)  close  kindred  to  superstition  ? 

Having  now  indulged,  as  far  as  time  would  per- 


160  GENEVA. 

mit,  the  curiosity  that  so  singular  a  spot  must  nat- 
urally give  rise  to,  we  emerged  from  the  gloomy 
portal  of  these  rocky  chambers,  and  rapidly  retraced 
our  way  down  the  steep  path,  to  the  little  cottage 
where  our  vehicle  was  in  waiting.  The  remainder 
of  the  journey  was  performed  without  interruption 
or  adventure,  and  at  early  eve  I  had  arrived  in  the 
good  city  of  Geneva,  and  retaken  my  apartment 
at  the  princely  Hotel  des  Bergs. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

Voltaire's  Seat  at  Ferney.  —  His  Death.  —  The  old  Gardener  at  Fer- 
ney.  —  Vohaire's  Character  and  Skepticism.  —  His  Intimacy  with 
Frederic  the  Great.  —  Coppet.  —  Madame  de  Stael.  —  Present 
Condition  and  Resources  of  Geneva.  —  Its  Picturesqueness.  —  Lake 
Leinan.  —  Tlie  Geuevois.  —  Present  Condition  of  the  Swiss  and 
Switzerland. 

The  traveller  at  Geneva  will  not  omit  visiting 
those  places  in  its  vicinity,  over  which  the  unfad- 
ing memory  of  genius  has  shed  its  consecrating 
glow.  Of  these,  the  most  noted  is  Voltaire's 
celebrated  residence,  Ferney.  Accompanied  by 
three  or  four  of  my  compatriots,  among  whom 
was  the  beautiful  Miss  S*******,  I  made  an  ex- 
cursion to  this  memorable  seat.  The  route  is  pic- 
turesque and  interesting.  You  alight  at  the  open- 
ing of  an  avenue  which  conducts  to  the  mansion ; 
arrived  there,  the  visiter  is  admitted  to  apartments 
whose  arrangements  and  decorations  are  yet  as  they 
w^ere  during  the  lifetime  of  the  celebrated  author. 
In  those  rooms  did  the  great  literary  demigod  of 
the  eighteenth  century  transcribe  those  profound 
thou2hts,  that,  sinking  deep  into  the  hearts  of 
men,  fired  the  resistless  train  of  revolution.  Here 
were  passed  those  solitary  years,  whose  laborious 
study  was  recompensed  by  the  literary  honors  of 
awakened  Europe.  The  monarchs  of  Christendom 
derived  an  accession  of  greatness  and  celebrity  from 
21 


162  'iiii:  <»ij»  (.\ki)i:m;u  a'i*  ikkmiy. 

tlu;  riion(lshi|»  ol  llu;  Miiicd  W  it,  lli«  i'oit,  the 
Historian,  and  >lic  IMiilosojjIicr.  His  "^rateriil  coun- 
try awarded  llic  triiiiii|iliaiil  ovilioM,  the  cncircliiij^ 
yet  fatal  laiirtl;*  hiil  lu'vur,  in  that  loii;^  career 
of  sj)l('n(l()r,  slioiic  more  hriglnly  the  flame,  lliaii 
ill  tlie  la^l  l)ri('f  flickerin^s  of  existence.  Lord 
Byron,  in  his  "  (  liilde  Harold/'  has  liius  hricfly 
and    trnlv  charactcri/.cd    him  : 

"Tlio  oiii'  was  I'm-  and  firklfiifs.-*,  u  cliilil 

Most  tiiiitalilf  ill  wislit-M,  liiit  in  niin<l, 
A  wit  iLs  NarinuM,  —  jfJiy,  pruvr,  wi^r,  «ir  wilil  ; 

lii.><toriuu,  luiril,  |iiiil(»«<>|)lR*r,  cornbin<-<l, 

lie  niiiltiplii-il  hjniM-lf  ainoii^  inniikiml, 
The  I'rotfii.s  of  tlicir  tali-iitM  :  liiil  liif*  own 

lirratlii-tl  most  in  riiliciilf,  wliirli  as  i\n-  wind 
lilfw  wluTf  it  listfd,  Ih) inj;  all  tliinf,'s  jironf, 
Now  to  uVrtimtw  a  foiil,  tuid  now  to  Hiiake  a  throni-." 

After  eoiukulin^^  the  survey  of  the  house  and 
fnrnimre,  \c)u  i)a>s  to  the  garden  adjoining  it;  here 
you  are  ^liow  n  the  covered  walk,  XNliidi  was 
A  oltaire's  lavorite  j)romenade.  Tlie  old  gardener, 
who  literally  snhsists  on  his  recollections  of  the 
great  author,  will  also  request  your  attention  to 
a  tree,  planted  by  the  hand  of  his  old  master. 
Much  has  been  said  of  this  gardener  by  those 
who  have  visited  Ferney.  His  age  has  been  rep- 
resented at  an  hundred  years,  but  did  not  appear 
to  me  to  exceed  eighty.  His  recollections  of  Vol- 
taire   are  necessarily   much  dimmed    by    the   long 

•  The  death  of  Voltaire  is  supposed  to  have*  been  accelerated,  by 
the  excitement  he  underwent  at  the  Theatre  Francais;  when,  after  the 
performance  of  a  most  successful  tragedy,  his  brows  were  WTeatlje<l 
with  laurel,  amid  the  acclamations  of  an  audience,  excited  to  tlie  high- 
est pitch  of  enthusiasm. 


VOLTAIRE'S  CHARACTER  AND  SKEPTICISM.       163 

lapse  of  more  than  half  a  century  ;  he  remembers 
him  as  an  old  man,  decrepid,  and  much  bowed 
down  beneath  the  w  eight  of  years ;  of  a  temper 
frequently  peevish  and  irascible,  and  endowed  with 
none  of  those  qualities  which  render  their  possessor 
an  amiable  personage.  Notwithstanding  all  this 
and  much  more  that  has  been  said,  the  notices  of 
his  contemporaries  have  much  belied  him,  or  Vol- 
taire must  have  possessed,  under  the  careless  garb 
of  a  man  of  the  world,  much  natural  goodness  of 
heart.  Of  this  there  is  a  shining  instance  in  his 
defence  of  the  unfortunate  Calas,  and  the  asylum 
he  offered  to  his  suffering  widow,  in  the  very  teeth 
of  royal  opposition.  The  inhabitants  of  Ferney  can 
bear  witness  also  to  his  kind  and  charitable  offices. 

There  is  but  little  doubt  that  the  author  of 
the  Henriade,  like  many  other  men  of  brilliant 
imagination,  to  whom  the  meed  of  popular  ap- 
plause is  as  their  vital  breath,  advanced  in  the 
conversational  coterie,  or  promulgated  on  the  en- 
during page,  sentiments  he  knew  to  be  in  conso- 
nance w  ith  the  free  and  licentious  spirit  of  the  age, 
but  which  himself  never  believed.  Many  of  the 
actions,  that  gilded  the  closing  years  of  \  oltaire's 
long  career,  impress  the  observer  with  the  truth  of 
this  supposition  beyond  a  doubt.  Who  can  unrid- 
dle that  deepest  of  enigmas,  the  human  heart? 

It  were  needless  to  expatiate  at  length  on  the 
objects  of  interest  to  be  seen  in  the  house,  or  about 
the  grounds,  of  Voltaire  ;  travellers  have  long  since 
published  to  the  world  their  minutest  particulars ; 
but,  before  leaving  the  subject,  I  shall  briefly  advert 


1 64  FERNEY.— VOLTAIRE  AND  FREDERIC  THE  GREAT. 

to  such  as  tend  to  display  his  cliaracter  as  a  man, 
or  are  intimately  connected  with  the  leading  events 
of  his  life.  The  little  church  beside  the  house, 
with  its  conspicuous  "  Deo  erexit  Voltaire^''''  is  of 
itself  a  volume  of  bioiiraphy.  Within,  in  the  salle 
de  lecejHlon,  you  behold  the  portraits  of  Lekain, 
Madame  de  Chatelet,  and  Frederic  of  Prussia. 
Lekain  owed  much  of  his  advancement,  as  well 
as  the  rapid  developement  of  his  genius,  to  the  fos- 
tering influence  of  his  great  patron.  The  witty, 
agreeable,  clever  Madame  de  Chatelet,  long  the 
chere  amie  of  Voltaire,  neglected  him  at  last  for  a 
liaison  with  one  every  way  his  inferior,  St.  Lam- 
bert. The  poet's  humorous  exclamation  of  grief, 
upon  hearing  the  news  of  this  lady's  decease,  is  too 
well  known  to  be  here  repeated  ;  but  it  certainly 
goes  to  prove,  that  Voltaire  was  in  freshness  of 
feeling  a  child  to  the  last,  and  also  that  the  natural 
kindliness  of  his  heart  was  by  no  means,  as  has  been 
sometimes  said,  extinguished  by  that  skeptical  phi- 
losophy, which  occasionally  breathes  in  his  writings. 
But  his  intimacy  and  correspondence  with  Fred- 
eric the  Great  forms,  perhaps,  the  most  prominent 
episode  in  the  life  of  Voltaire.  The  portrait  of 
that  monarch,  suspended  from  the  dingy,  time- 
worn  wall,  recalled  to  my  mind  the  royal  palace 
of  Potsdam,  and  the  private  cabinet,  where  the 
Poet  and  the  King  were  wont  to  hold  converse. 
They  were,  unquestionably,  the  most  remarkable 
men  of  their  age ;  yet  Frederic,  with  less  of  what 
is  termed  genius,  was  the  more  clever  of  the  two, 
and  greatly  surpassed  the  other  in  that  invaluable 


MADAME   DE   STAEL.  —  CORINNE.  165 

branch  of  learning,  a  knowledge  of  mankind.  Few 
men  have  understood  more  completely  than  Fred- 
eric, the  various  passions  that  sway  the  human 
heart,  or  known  to  turn  them  better  to  account ; 
and  he  has  shown  a  good  proof  of  his  shrewd  and 
far-sighted  policy,  in  attaching  to  his  person,  one, 
the  magic  of  whose  pen  might  embalm  the  more 
perishable  deeds  of  the  sword,  and  transmit  them 
on  the  historic  page  to  the  admiration  of  future 
ages. 

Well,  adieu  to  Ferney,  and  peace  to  the  ashes 
of  Voltaire.  But,  ere  we  quit  a  country  so  rich  in 
treasured  associations,  let  us  take  a  glance  at  the 
once  tranquil  abode  of  the  celebrated  Necker,  and 
his  far  more  celebrated  daughter.  Happy  Coppet ! 
Immortality  shall  cling  around  thee,  when  cities 
have  crumbled  to  decay.  Who  can  look  upon  the 
retreat  that  sheltered  the  sensitive  authoress  of 
Corinne^  without  feeling  the  strong  emotion  strug- 
gling at  his  heart.  Never,  since  the  days  of  Rous- 
seau, has  that  gushing,  irrepressible  sentiment,  the 
offspring  of  love,  passionate,  overwhelming,  yet  del- 
icate in  its  trembling  excess,  been  so  eloquently 
portrayed.  What  wonder  ?  She  felt  as  she  wrote. 
Her  page  was  but  the  burning  transcript  of  her 
heart.  Herself  was  the  lofty,  the  intellectual,  the 
passionate,  and  heart-broken  Corinne.  She  has 
breathed  into  the  character  the  vivid,  the  yearning 
emotions  of  her  youth.  She  has  dipped  her  pencil 
in  the  bright  ineffaceable  hues  of  her  own  heart. 
What  wonder,  then,  the  picture  glows  in  its  intense, 
its  overpowering  fidelity  ?     Who  can  faithfully  por- 


166  COPPET.  — AUTHORESS   OF   CORINNE. 

tray  feelings  which  have  not  their  home  within 
his  own  breast?  As  well  might  the  dull  degraded 
slave,  who  never  knew  its  magic  thrill,  dilate  on 
the  matchless  glow   of  expanding  liberty. 

Like  the  heroine  she  has  drawn,  the  soul  of  the 
Original  languished  for  a  sympathy  beyond  the 
reach  of  common  minds.  She  was  shrinkingly  con- 
scious of  the  pure  presence  of  those  exhaustless, 
inestimable  affections,  that  burned  to  bestow  them- 
selves on  one  worthy  the  priceless  gift.  But,  alas  ! 
who  could  appreciate  its  untold  value  ?  Oh,  beau- 
tiful yet  fatal  gift !  that  leadest  thy  possessor  to 
squander  the  heart's  richest  treasures  upon  objects 
whose  unworthiness  it  learns  but  too  late.  What  is 
there  in  this  vain  world  can  atone  for  the  sinking  of 
the  very  soul,  that  attends  the  first  prostrating  mo- 
ment of  discovery.  We  have  trusted  our  all  to  a 
single  bark  ;  it  is  the  fearful  wreck  of  the  heart  on 
the  black  ocean  of  despair.  Farew^ell,  heau  genie  ! 
farewell,  rare  combination  of  lofty,  intellectual 
strength,  and  that  softness  and  sensibility,  so  ex- 
quisite in  woman.  It  is  no  elaborate  eulogium  my 
pen  would  trace.  Let  the  rising  tear,  that  starts 
unbidden  to  the  eye,  as  it  dwells  on  the  sorrows 
thou  hast  imaged  forth  with  the  heart's  deep  elo- 
quence, pay  its  honest,  its  sincere  tribute  to  thy 
beautiful   memory. 

We  must  not  linger  more  over  scenes  so  fraught 
with  interesting  associations.  The  high-wrought 
fancy  stoops  reluctant  on  its  sweeping  wing,  to 
hold  communion  with  the  sordid,  every-day  world. 
Return  we  once  more  to  the  city  of  Rousseau,  the 


GENEVA   AS   IT   NOW   IS.  1(37 

circumstance  of  whose  birth  (oh,  changing  world  ! )  is 
now  its  chiefest  honor  ;  vet,  while  burned  the  lamp 
of  life,  none  heaped  more  willingly  upon  him  the 
overwhelming  load  of  opprobrium  and  abuse  than 
the  sons  of  his  native  city.  You  raise  the  pious 
fane,  you  exalt  the  perpetuating  monument  to  em- 
balm the  memory  of  departed  genius ;  yet  why 
trample  ye  upon  the  best  affections  of  the  beating, 
suffering  heart,  until  at  last  it  finds  refuge  for  ever, 
from  its  feverish  pulsation,  in  the  icy  though  wel- 
come embrace  of  death. 

Geneva  has  now  but  little  to  boast  of,  whether 
in  literature  or  the  arts.     It  is  at  present  the  head- 
quarters of  bijouterie^  the  grand   European   bazaar 
of  watches,  trinkets,  cameos,  and  jewels  of  every 
description.      It    is    the    half-way  house    between 
France    and   sunny  Italy,   and  its   chief  wealth  is 
derived  from   the    broad    and    incessant   stream  of 
travel,  that  pours  through    it,  depositing,  like    the 
fabled  Pactolus,  its  golden  sand  profuse  on  either 
shore.     Some  quarters  of  the  city,  the  more  mod- 
ern,  are    handsome    and   well  built;    but  it  is    in 
its  picturesque   situation,  that   consists    the    grand 
beauty  of  Geneva.     I  have  visited  no  inland  city  in 
Europe,  that  can  boast  so  charming  a  locale.    Lake, 
river,   mountain,  vale,  blend  here  in  one  beautiful 
ensemble.     Leman,  with  its  serene  and  glassy  sur- 
face ;  the   impetuous   Rhone ;  "  its  durance  o'er," 
leaping  forth  like  the  freed  captive,  wild  with  the 
first  thrill  of  holy  liberty ;    these  are  meet  themes 
for  the  rapt  poet's  lyre. 


168  SWITZERLAND. 

"  Clear,  placid  Leiimn,  tliy  contrasted  lake 

VV' itii  tin-  wide  world  1  dwell  in,  is  a  thing 
AViiicli  warns  iiic  with  its  stillness  to  I'oi-sake 

Earth's  troubled  waters  for  a  purer  spring. 

The  quiet  sail  is  as  a  noiseless  wing 
To  waft  nie  frotn  distraction ;  once,  I  loved 

Torn  Ocean's  roar ;  but  thy  soft  niurniuring 
Sounds  sweet,  as  if  a  sister's  voice  reproved, 
That  I  with  stem  delights  should  e'er  have  been  so  moved," 

"  Now  where  the  swift  Rhone  cleaves  his  way  between,"  &.C. 

Before  leaving  Geneva,  I  will  advert  briefly  to 
the  eharacter  ot  its  inhabitants,  and  ofler  a  few 
general  remarks  on  its  present  position,  as  com- 
pared witii  tliat  it  formerly  occupied  in  the  great 
European  family.  In  manners  and  customs,  as  wvM 
as  in  language,  the  Genevois  strikingly  resemble 
their  Gallic  neighbours,  differing  in  all,  very  essen- 
tially, from  the  inhabitants  of  Basle,  Berne,  and 
Zurich;  where  the  German  admixture  vastly  pre- 
dominates. In  fact,  at  the  present  day,  Switzerland 
cannot  be  said  to  possess  a  distinct  individual  char- 
acter. The  country  itself  exists,  or  rather  its  name, 
only  by  the  forbearance  of  the  powerful  monarchs 
whose  realms  adjoin  it.  Were  not  the  more  en- 
lightened governments  of  England  and  France  de- 
termined to  maintain  the  balance  of  European 
power,  Switzerland  would  have  long  since  shared 
the  fate  of  gallant,  unhappy  Poland  ;  and  the  con- 
quest would  have  been  less  sanguinary,  for  Switz- 
erland is  degraded.  She  has  fallen  from  her  once 
lofty  estate  ;  the  best  blood  of  her  sons  has  been 
exchanged  for  foreign  gold.  The  days  of  Morgar- 
ten  and   Sempach  are  passed  away  for  ever ;   the 


PRESENT   CONDITION   OF   THE   SWISS.  169 

heroic  devotion  of  an  Erlach,  or  a  Tell,  finds  no 
home  in  the  breasts  of  the  modern  Swiss.     What 
has    been    the    cause    of    this    rapid    degeneracj  ? 
Alas !  its  germ  existed  in  the  excess  of  their  great- 
est virtue.      It  was   Swiss  valor  which   gave  the 
first    strong    impulse  to   the    ruin   of    Switzerland. 
The  fiery  courage,  that  humbled  the  pride  of  Impe- 
rial  Austria   in    the    sanguinary   encounters  of  the 
fourteenth  century,  was  made  an  article  of  traffic, 
and  sold  to  the  highest  bidder.     The  true  wealth 
of   a  nation,   industry  at  home,   internal  improve- 
ments, and  cultivation  of  the  soil  w^ere  lost  sight 
of  and  neglected,  for  the  more  dazzling  yet  preca- 
rious gains   of   mercenary  warfare.     Nor  was  this 
all.     A  restless  militant  spirit  was  generated,  which 
the  peace  of  succeeding  ages  has  never  been  able 
to  do    away.     Even  to   this  day  does   the    Swiss 
mercenary  sell  his  services  to  the  Roman,  and  tread 
with  measured  patrol  the  lofty  porticos  of  the  Vat- 
ican, and  the  stately  colonnades  of  St.  Peter's.     In 
Naples  may  be  seen,  garrisoned  by  the  hired  Swit- 
zer,  those  important  posts,  which  the  King  trusts  not 
to  the  more  than  suspected  fidelity  of  his  own  sub- 
jects.   In  France,  too,  but  few  years  are  past,  since 
the   Swiss   troops  formed   the   favorite    escort  and 
garde  de  corps  of  the  King ;  and  they  showed,  in- 
deed, their  devotion  to  the  royal  interest,  by  choos- 
mg  rather  to   be   shot  down  at  their  posts,   than 
ignobly   fly.     At  present,   in    Paris,   Suisse   is   but 
another  name  for  concierge,  and  you  see  inscribed 
upon  the  houses  above  the  porter's  lodge,  Parlez 
22 


1 70  SWITZERLAND. 

au  Suisse  made  use  of  indifferently  with  Parlez  au 
concierge,  sufficient  evidence  of  the  station  that 
Swiss  services  are  now  usually  employed  in.  It  is 
a  melancholy  and  a  humiliating  reflection  to  dwell 
upon,  that  in  a  clime,  so  ennobled  by  the  hand  of 
nature,  the  creature,  man,  should  sink  heneath  all 
corresponding  dignity.  Yet  what  person  of  experi- 
ence, who,  save  the  visionary  enthusiast  or  the 
dreaming  boy,  can  even  hope  to  find  it  otherwise  ? 
Those  who  mistake  ignorance  for  simplicity  of 
manner,  and  want  of  means  for  virtuous  self-denial, 
may  extol  the  morality  of  the  Swiss. 

In  a  country  like  Switzerland,  however,  there 
will  ever  be  found  many  who,  from  bitter  experi- 
ence of  the  world's  unsatisfying  pursuits,  have 
quitted  the  homes  of  their  fathers  to  enjoy,  in 
regions  of  stillness  and  repose,  the  fuller  exercise 
of  those  noble  faculties  God  has  given  them. 
Among  such  may  be  found  virtue,  and  the  wisdom 
upon  which  true  virtue  is  based  ;  but  look  not  for 
it  amid  the  unenlightened  mass. 

As  I  have  said,  the  bright  days  of  her  power 
and  political  influence  are  for  ever  fled.  Switzer- 
land can  never  again  be  as  once  she  was,  when, 
with  waving  falchion  and  bristling  spear,  her  pa- 
triotic sons  thinned  the  serried  ranks  of  the  foe.  At 
the  present  era  numbers  and  force  must  ever  deter- 
mine the  final  result ;  individual  bravery,  self-sacri- 
ficing as  it  may  be,  can  oppose  but  slight  resistance 
to  numerical  superiority.  As  well  might  the  pine, 
on  the  mountain's  side,  expect  to  impede  the  thun- 


PRESENT    CONDITION   OF   THE   SWISS.  171 

dering  onset  of  the  uprooting  avalanche,  as  the 
scanty  band  of  mountaineers,  however  brave  and 
hardy,  to  oppose  effectually  the  overwhelming 
masses  of  modern  warfare.  Let  her  cultivate, 
then,  the  mild  arts  of  peace  ;  let  her  trust  to  her 
own  domestic  resources  ;  and,  in  pursuing  the  paths 
of  Education  and  Industry,  she  will  in  the  end  at- 
tain the  truest  glory  of   an  enlightened  Republic. 


CM  A  I'  IK  li    XI  11. 

Juiinny  to  liVoii.s.  —  Aminyiiig  Tolict;  Exuiiiiiiiition.  —  Eiilighu-ning 
Erti-ct  ofCJold  <)[i  rolilifs. —  Lyons  uiul  it.s  Iiilialiituiits. —  SH'utnlxmt 
Pm^sage  down  the  Rlione. —  Avignon.  —  Excursion  to  Vau<liis<;. 
—  The  celebrated  Fountain.  —  Pctrarrli  and  his  Laura.  —  A  D6- 
jeiinor  k  la  Fourcliclte.  —  Wines.  —  TeniiK-mnce.  —  NiHines.  — 
The  Aniphitlieairc.  — The  Maison  C'urree.  —  Acjueduct  of  the  Pont 
du  Gard. 

I  HAD  now  passed  n(>arly  a  fortnight  in  Geneva, 
hoping  each  day  to  receive  more  favorable  news 
from  Italy;  but  it  seemed,  that,  with  every  returning 
traveller,  there  came  yet  more  direful  accounts  of 
cholera,  and  its  redoubtable  aides-de-camp,  quaran- 
tines, and  cordons  sanitaires.  Being  convinced  that 
under  such  restrictions  there  could  be  but  little 
pleasure  in  visiting  that  interesting  country,  I  re- 
solved to  defer  my  intended  tour  until  a  more 
favorable  opportunity,  and  pass  the  interim  in  trav- 
elling; over  the  fertile  territorv  of  vine-clad  France. 
I  was  fortunate  enough  at  Geneva  to  fall  in  with  a 
fellow-countryman  of  the  same  way  of  thinking  as 
myself,  and  together  we  set  out  upon  our  journey. 

Our  first  point  of  destination  was  Lyons.  The 
diligence  accomplishes  the  trajet  in  about  twenty- 
two  hours.  Upon  entering  the  frontier  of  France 
from  Switzerland,  the  traveller  is  subjected  to  a 
strict  and  severe  scrutiny  from  the  government 
agents.  Nowhere  in  Europe  have  I  witnessed  so 
prying    a    curiosity  as    these    aforesaid    gentlemen 


ENLIGHTENING  EFFECT  OF  GOLD  ON  POLITICS.     173 

manifested.  Not  satisfied  with  the  minutest  in- 
vestigation of  your  effects,  and  with  turning  topsy- 
turvy every  thing  in  portmanteau  and  valise,  they 
were  wanting  in  suitable  respect  towards  your  per- 
son, which,  even  at  the  Bureau  d^Octroi  (unless 
peculiar  circumstances  excite  suspicion)  is  usually 
deemed  inviolate.  There  were  hands  groping  along 
beneath  coat  and  vest  in  eager  anticipation  of  com- 
ing in  contact  with  specimens  of  the  jewelry  or 
watches  of  Geneva.  Ordinarily,  in  all  countries 
(for  we  must  give  even  the  devil  his  due)  these 
gentlemen  display  much  more  sensibility  and  kind- 
ness of  heart ;  so  that  by  the  convincing  argument 
of  five  or  ten  francs,  as  the  case  may  be  more  or 
less  urgent,  you  can  be  sure  of  satisfying  their 
unprejudiced  minds,  that  every  thing  is  as  straight 
and  correct  as  needs  be. 

Now,  were  I  not  writing  a  veritable  history  of 
travels,  I  should  here  take  the  opportunity  of  in- 
dulging in  an  episode,  that  should  have  for  its 
subject  the  mysterious  agency  of  that  yellow  min- 
eral, yclept  "  Gold,"  upon  the  feelings,  judgments, 
and  decisions  of  the  very  honest  and  respecta- 
ble body  of  men,  who  are  set  apart  for  the  high 
purpose  of  ruling,  or  keeping  within  due  lim- 
its, the  humbler  individuals  of  their  species.  I 
would  treat  of  the  magical  power  it  not  unfre- 
quently  exhibits,  in  cleansing  the  breast  of  the 
patriotic  politician  from  those  insensate,  pernicious 
plans,  he  deemed  before  for  the  good  of  his  con- 
stituents and  the  state  ;  but  which,  when  suddenly 
assisted  by  a  copious  draught  of  that  potent  elixir, 


174  LYONS.  '"^^ 

that  opens  to  his  keener  vision  the  l)ii;:ht  sceptre 
of   power,   li(!  perceives,  ahnost  instinctively   (and 
starts  baclv  ania/cd  at  liis  previous  blindness),  to  be 
of  the    most  anarchical   and  dani^erous    tendency. 
I  should  ^o  on,  I  say,  making  a  few  remarks  u])on 
this   singular  and  interesting   subject,  and  I  might 
perchance  settle  down  upon  a  philosophical  disqui- 
sition, respecting  the   truth   or  fallacy  of   the  old 
French  adage,  Tout  liomnic  a  son  prlx,  did  not  the 
theme,  in  the  first  place,  militate  with  the  employ- 
ment previously  designed  for  my  pen,  and,  second- 
ly (and  this  is  my  more  especial  reason),  were  I  not 
apprehensive,  that,  in  so  doing,  I   should  be  guilty 
of  that  most  unpardonable  crime  in  INIodern  Ethics, 
an  unwise  or  malapropos  expose  of  my  own  proper 
opinion.     Flanked  by  these  two  judicious  reasons, 
I  shall  abstain  from  further  remark  on  this  fruitful 
topic ;  observing  merely,  as  I  take  my  leave,  that, 
however  generally  an  author  may  treat  his  subject, 
if,  by  any  twist  or   contortion,   his  remarks    may 
wear    even   the    semblance  of   being  apphcable  to 
particular  quarters,  they  are  very  apt  to  find  their 
way  thither,  and,  despite  the  innocence  of  his  in- 
tentions, to  create  towards  him  feelings  of  ill  will 
or  positive  enmity  ;  a  mishap  no  one  can  be  more 
anxious  to  avoid  than  myself;  therefore,  I  will  lose 
no  time  in  resuming  the  diligence^  and  once  more 
for  Lyons. 

After  a  tedious  ride,  over  mountain  and  plain, 
we  arrived  at  length  at  the  barriers  of  this  old  and 
populous  city.  The  usual  half-minute  of  detention 
past,  our  ponderous  vehicle  was  thundering  along 


PASSAGE   BY   STEAM-BOAT  DOWN   THE   RHONE.     175 

the  sombre  streets,  and,  speedily  drawing  up  at  the 
Bureau  de  diligence,  left  us  to  our  po^^  ers  of  loco- 
motion. Preceded  by  commissionaire  and  luggage, 
we  took  the  way  a  V Hotel  de  PEurope,  the  most 
genteel  establishment  of  the  kind  in  Lyons.  There 
we  secured  comfortable  lodgings,  and,  having  de- 
voted the  brief  hour  to  repast  and  siesta,  sallied 
forth  again  to  catch  a  glance  at  the  city. 

Lyons  is  pleasantly  situated  on  a  narrow  strip  of 
land,  between  the  rivers  Rhone  and  Saone,  which 
commingle  their  rapid  waters  at  a  trifling  distance 
from  its  immediate  precincts.  The  careless  voyageur 
will  find  but  little  to  amuse  in  Lyons  ;  but,  in  the 
eye  of  the  American  traveller,  the  fact  alone,  that 
it  is  so  intimately  connected  through  the  medium 
of  trade  with  the  United  States  clothes  it  with 
interest.  The  manufacturers  of  Lyons  may  be 
said  to  be  in  a  great  measure  dependent  upon  their 
relations  with  American  importers,  and  when  these 
relations  received  a  severe,  though  temporary,  blow 
from  the  immediate  prospect  of  war  between  the 
two  nations,  the  Lyonnais  for  a  time  suffered  much 
distress  in  consequence.  The  sufferings  too  which 
this  ill-fated  city  endured  during  the  convulsive 
throes  of  the  sanguinary  revolution,  invest  it  with 
a  melancholy  interest.  Even  to  this  day,  though 
touched  by  Time's  effacing  fingers,  their  dark  im- 
press has  not  entirely  faded  away. 

The  most  rapid  communication  between  Lyons 
and  the  south  of  France  is  by  the  steam  naviga- 
tion of  the  Rhone.  A  steam-boat  leaves  the  pier 
for  Avignon  three  times  a  week,  quitting  the  former 


176  ARRIVAL   AT   AVIGNON. 

city  at  six  in  the  morning,  and  accomplishing  the 
trajd,  a  distance  of  one  iiundrcd  and  sixty  miles,  in 
twelve  or  thirteen  hours.  This  rapid  mode  of 
conveyance  offers  an  agreeable  variety  to  the  malle 
postc  or  diligence  traveller  ;  and,  heartily  weary 
of  rumbling  voiture  and  grumbling  postilion,  we 
were  fain  to  trust  ourselves  and  fortunes  to  the 
gentler  influences  of  steam  and  stream.  The  nav- 
igation of  the  Rhone  is  rather  difficult  from  its 
frequent  shoals  and  the  extreme  rapidity  of  its  cur- 
rent ;  and  Frenchmen,  it  must  be  confessed,  are 
but  indifferent  hands  at  best,  where  steam  is  the 
moving  power.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered  at,  there- 
fore, that  we  grounded  once  or  twice  during  the 
passage,  but  we  had  the  good  fortune  to  escape 
without  serious  injury. 

The  banks  of  the  Rhone,  contrasted  with  the 
magnificent  cotes  of  its  sister  Rhine,  appear  tame 
and  deficient  in  picturesque  beauty  and  grandeur ; 
but,  despite  the  absence  of  these,  there  is  some- 
thing inspiriting  in  the  very  velocity  with  which 
you  skim  the  bounding  w  ave ;  rapidity  of  motion 
is  of  itself  excitement  enough,  at  least  for  me. 
At  St.  Esprit  you  pass  beneath  the  noble  bridge, 
that  owes  its  existence  to  the  monks  of  the  Mid- 
dle Ages.  It  is  a  magnificent  structure,  and  looks 
yet  as  durable  as  Old  Time  himself.  We  whirled 
through  the  wide  limits  of  the  centre  arch,  borne 
onward  by  the  eddying  stream,  with  a  well  nigh 
frightful  velocity.  At  length  we  landed  at  the 
pier  of  Avignon,  and  set  foot  upon  the  soil,  once 
so  favored  by  the  See  of  Rome. 


EXCURSION  TO  VAUCLUSE.  177 

Avignon  is  pleasantly  situated  upon  the  Rhone, 
and  contains  a  population  exceeding  twenty  thousand 
souls ;  it  is  the  principal  town  of  a  fertile  and  beau- 
tiful  department.      Among   the  interesting  objects 
which   the  traveller  should  visit,  the  old  Cathedral 
stands  prominent.     This  remarkable  edifice  towers 
proudly  yet,  a  memorial  of  those  olden  times  when 
Avignon  shared,  with  Imperial  Rome,  the  favor  of 
the  Papal  Chair ;  the  remains  of  two  or  three  of  the 
successors  of  St.  Peter  yet  repose  within  the  walls 
of   the   sanctuary.      About  fifteen   miles   from   the 
city,  the  road  winding  through  a  fertile  and  vine- 
clad  district,  lies  the  celebrated  village  or  hamlet 
of  Vaucluse.     My  companion  and  myself  made  an 
excursion,  one  beautiful  day,  to  this  romantic  site  ; 
the  drive  was  most    delightful.     The    wide-spread 
champaign  was  clothed  in  the  rich  verdure  of  the 
happy  vine,  whose  pliant  arms,   unable   to  sustain 
their  precious  burden,  were  depositing,  in  rich  and 
tempting  profusion,  their  gorgeous  clusters  on  the 
teeming  bosom  of  the  earth.     Happy,  thrice  happy 
South!    soft  and  balmy  are   the   airs   that  breathe 
their  sweet  incense  over  thy  sunny  clime,  awaken- 
ing, with  invisible  influence,  each  nerve  and  fibre 
of  the  frame  to  more  exquisite  sensibility,  until  the 
rapt  soul  thrills  under   the    glowing  consciousness 
of   thine  inestimable  value,   oh  wondrous  boon  of 
existence ! 

Two  hours  had  well  nigh  elapsed,  when  our  car- 
riage drew  up  at  the  little  inn  of  Vaucluse,  where, 
securing  the   services  of  a  guide,  we   sallied  forth 
to  catch  a  glance  at  the  celebrated  fountain.     The 
23 


178  THE   I'OUNTAIN    Ul     VAUCLU8E. 

description  of  this  mysterious  fount  demands  an 
abler  pen  than  mine  to  do  full  justice  to  the  theme. 
Before  obtaining  a  view  of  the  gaping  cavern,  that 
bounds  its  unfathomed  waters,  there  is  an  incon- 
siderable elevation  to  be  surmounted.  Upon  the 
day  of  our  excursion  to  Vaucluse,  the  weather  was 
warm  and  sultry  to  an  unusual  degree.  From  the 
deep  blue  of  a  cloudless  sky,  the  glowing  sun  of 
Provence  was  darting  his  intense  rays  upon  the 
arid  and  exposed  face  of  Nature.  With  us,  how- 
ever, the  extreme  heat  was  of  but  short  dura- 
tion ;  for  when,  baving  completed  the  ascent  of  the 
little  hillock,  we  made  the  first  step  down  its 
opposite  side,  that  shelves  gradually  to  the  very 
margin  of  the  fountain,  the  change  of  temperature 
made  itself  on  the  instant  most  sensibly  felt.  The 
heat,  but  just  now  intolerable,  was  succeeded  by 
a  chilling  coldness,  that  exhales  from  those  silent 
and  unknown  depths,  and  ever  pervades  the  re- 
cesses of  that  gloomy   cavern. 

Upon  arriving  at  the  summit  of  the  hillock  before 
mentioned,  the  traveller  cannot  refrain  from  pausing 
a  moment  as  he  dwells,  with  mingled  astonishment 
and  awe,  upon  the  sublimity  of  the  scene  that  meets 
his  eye.  Lofty  and  abrupt,  towers  directly  above 
him  a  perpendicular  wall  of  massive  rock,  five  or  six 
hundred  feet  in  altitude,  while  at  his  feet,  scooped 
into  its  very  heart,  yawns  the  terrific  chasm,  with 
its  contents  of  inky  blackness.  The  blood  of  the 
spectator  courses  chill  through  each  vein,  as,  in 
the  first  moment  of  surprise,  he  recoils  aghast  from 
that  mysterious  abyss.     The  descensus  Averni  and 


THE  FOUNTAIN  OF  VAUCLUSE.         179 

Stygium  flumen  of  the  Latin  poet  flit  palpably 
before  the  excited  sense  ;  and,  were  the  solid  rock 
to  be  riven  at  the  moment  to  its  very  centre,  his 
astonishment  would  be  susceptible  of  no  increase. 

We  descended  into  the  rocky  enclosure,  and 
bathed  in  those  dark,  silent  waters.  A  section  of 
rock,  buried  some  six  feet  beneath  the  surface, 
juts  to  a  small  distance  from  the  margin.  Upon 
this  rests  the  eye,  with  view  as  searching  and  dis- 
tinct, as  though  a  medium  no  less  subtile  than  the 
elastic  air  intervened  only  between  it  and  the  ob- 
ject upon  which  it  rests  :  an  inch  beyond  all  was 
chaotic  blackness,  suggesting  to  the  mind  the  idea 
of  that  unknown,  fathomless  depth,  that  consti- 
tutes one  of  the  strongest  attributes  of  the  Sub- 
lime. The  cavern  was  extremely  cold  and  damp, 
for  the  sun's  genial  rays  had  never  penetrated  its 
recesses,  and  the  water  was  of  a  temperature  to 
well-nigh  paralyze  the  limbs ;  yet  we  suffered  no 
inconvenience  from  the  exposure.  Our  guide  look- 
ed upon  it  as  quite  a  daring  feat,  akin  probably  to 
swimming  the  Hellespont,  if  his  learning  extended 
to  that  point.  He  had  mentioned  to  us,  previously, 
the  extraordinary  fact  of  a  Russian  gentleman's 
having,  a  few  days  before,  bathed  in  the  fountain, 
a  circumstance  which  probably  induced  us  to  im- 
mortalize ourselves  in  like   manner. 

Altogether  the  fountain  of  Vaucluse  made  an  im- 
pression upon  my  mind  which  time  cannot  efface. 
Aside  from  the  remarkable  appearances  that  Nature 
there  developes,  it  is  associated  in  the  memory  with 
the   life   and   productions  of  the   most   elegant   and 


180      PETRARCH  AND  I-AURA— AVIGNON 

tender  of  poets,  and  around  it  clings,  as  a  wreath, 
the  chaste  souvenir  of  love  the  most  Phitonic,  yet 
constant  and  sincere.  While  genius  continues  to 
have  its  worshippers,  and  love  is  looked  upon  as 
more  than  a  v)ord,  the  names  of"  Petrarch  and  his 
Laura  will  render  the  pilgrimage  to  V'aucluse  one 
of  no  small  interest.  There  is  yet  shown  to  the 
visiter  a  column  erected  to  the  memory  of  Laura,  and 
also  the  house  she  used  to  dwell  in.  But  blocks  of 
wood  and  stone  are  after  all  but  useless  memorials. 
The  deathless  page  of  Petrarch  has  stan)ped  upon 
the  spot,  where  glowed  his  bright  genius  and  that 
passion  which  developed  it,  or  was  a  coniponent 
part,  an  immortality  which  needs  not  to  borrow 
from  monumental  pile  ;  and  faint  indeed  must  be 
that  merit,  which  depends  on  such  aid  for  a  name, 
when  our  generation  shall  have  passed  away,  and 
"  the  places  that  now  know  us  shall  know  us  no 
more." 

The  rapid  hours  were  hurrying  on  the  shades  of 
evening,  when  we  bade  adieu  to  this  spot,  so  fraught 
with  poetic  associations.  Swift  rolled  the  voiture, 
and  soon  we  were  reestablished  in  our  comfortable 
lodgings  at  Avignon.  The  Hotel  de  PEurope  in 
this  city  (a  traveller  should  never  forget  the  roof 
that  shelters  him)  is  an  excellent  and  well-con- 
ducted establishment ;  it  was  there,  for  the  first 
time  in  France  or  elsewhere,  that  I  sat  down  to  a 
regular  dtjeuner  a  la  fourchette,  a  description  of 
meal  but  little  known  in  this  country.  In  the 
south  of  France,  a  dejeuner  a  la  fourchette,  with 
the  single  exception   of  there   being:  no  preface  of 


A   DEJEUNER   A    LA   FOURCHETTE.  181 

soup,  (a  sine  qua  non  in  French  dining,)  diifers  in 
no  material  point  from  the  di7ier.  Bottles  of  wine, 
gigots,  patjs,  coutelettes,  fricandeaux,  salades,  &c., 
are  scattered  about  the  table  in  profusion.  A 
dessert  succeeds,  where  jou  are  regaled  with  the 
finest  grapes  and  fruits  of  the  season  ;  the  whole 
concludes  with  a  tasse  de  cafe  and  a  petit  verre  de 
liqueur;  and,  thus  fortified,  you  are  presumed  to  be 
in  good  condition  to  hold  out  until  the  hour  of  din- 
ner, when  a  similar  repast,  upon  a  scale  a  trifle  more 
ample,  succeeds.  The  dejeuner  at  the  table  d^hote 
is  usually  served  up  at  ten  or  half  past,  and  the 
diner  at  half  past  five  o'clock.  Thus  there  are 
only  two  meals  a  day,  but  those  substantial  ones ; 
a  custom  I  think,  on  many  accounts,  preferable  to 
our  own. 

The  habit  of  drinking  wine,  both  at  breakfast  and 
dinner,  is  very  prevalent ;  it  is  an  indulgence,  that 
the  poorest  peasant  in  Southern  France  is  not  obliged 
to  abstain  from,  yet,  with  all  this  free  use  of  the 
grape's  exhilarating  juice,  intemperance  is  a  vice  but 
seldom  met  with.  During  a  residence  of  more  than 
a  year  in  the  Capital,  and  of  several  months  in  the 
various  Departments,  of  France,  I  recollect  to  have 
seen  but  very  few  cases  of  positive  inebriety  ;  cer- 
tainly not  more  than  two  or  three  among  the  native 
inhabitants.  The  ordinary  wine  of  the  country,  des- 
tined for  home  consumption,  is  never  alloyed  by  an 
admixture  of  spirituous  liquors  ;  in  strength  it  but 
little  exceeds  our  common  cider,  and,  mingled 
with  water  in  equal  quantities,  forms  a  beverage 
at  once  agreeable   and  salutary.     It  seems  to  me, 


182  MSMES 

that,  as  a  table  drink,  this  possesses  numerous  ad- 
vantages over  those  fashionable  slops,  cofTee  and 
tea,  which,  with  us,  circulate  their  slow,  insidious 
poisons  through  all  ranks  of  society. 

From  Avignon  we  took  the  route  to  Nismes, 
being  desirous  of  surveying  those  relics  of  Roman 
grandeur  with  which  this  city  abounds.  Nismes 
contains  a  population  of  more  than  forty  thousand 
souls  ;  its  locale  subjects  it  to  numerous  disadvan- 
tages in  a  commercial  point  of  view,  there  being 
neither  navigable  stream  nor  canal  in  its  vicinity. 
Notwithstanding  these  disadvantages,  however,  Nis- 
mes carries  on  an  extensive  trade  in  silken  stuffs, 
&.C.  The  heavy  diligences,  of  which  this  city  is  a 
grand  central  point,  do  the  slow  work  of  transport- 
ation to  x\vignon  and  Marseilles,  where  the  Rhone 
and  Mediterranean  offer  their  facilities.  Nismes  is 
provided  with  a  handsome  theatre,  and,  with  its 
wide,  airy  avenues  and  well-built  edifices,  it  pre- 
sents a  striking  and  tasteful  appearance. 

But  it  is  not  as  a  modern  town,  that  this  place 
possesses  an  interest ;  no,  its  associations,  as  you 
roam  along  the  wide  streets,  are  all  with  the  past. 
The  stupendous  amphitheatre,  so  vast  and  colossal, 
what  a  world  of  imaginings  does  it  not  call  forth  ? 
You  gaze  upon  it,  and  reflect  upon  the  thousands 
of  admiring  spectators,  whose  plaudits  have  rung 
through  that  now  untenanted  and  desolate  enclos- 
ure. In  imagination,  you  revert  to  the  sanguinary 
scenes  that  have  been  enacted  upon  its  ample 
arena.  It  was  here  the  gladiator  pursued  his 
bloody  game  ;    it  was  here  the  savage   beast  and 


THE   AMPHITHEATRE— MAISON   CARREE.  183 

desperate  criminal  closed  in  the  throttling  em- 
brace of  death.  Centuries  have  swelled  the  huge 
volume  of  the  past,  and  these  sanguinary  orgies 
have  been  swept  away  in  their  march ;  yet  re- 
mains still  the  huge  edifice.  You  walk  around  it ; 
you  ascend  its  massive  steps,  and  look  about  you  ; 
your  imagination  becomes  filled  with  the  near  view 
of  the  stupendous  grandeur  of  a  nation,  which,  in 
the  mere  wantonness  of  its  sports,  could  rear  a 
pile  like  this.  The  entire  amphitheatre  is  yet  in 
tolerable  preservation.  Although  by  no  means  so 
large  or  imposing  as  the  Colosseum  at  Rome,  I 
should  not  hesitate  in  pronouncing  it  as  second  only, 
upon  the  continent  of  Europe,  to  that  stupendous 
ruin.  In  ascending  the  amphitheatre,  and  while 
at  a  considerable  height  from  the  ground,  the  spec- 
tator is  surprised  at  the  prodigious  size  of  the  frag- 
ments of  rock  that  compose  the  walls.  We  are 
indeed  at  a  loss  to  conceive,  by  what  process  the 
ancients  were  enabled  to  raise  such  enormous  blocks 
of  stone  to  so  great  a  height,  and  arrange  them  in 
such  admirable  uniformity  and  precision  without 
the  slightest  perceptible  use  of  cement. 

When  the  admiration  has  become  exhausted  with 
gazing  on  this  stupendous  pile,  the  tourist  should 
turn  to  contemplate  that  exquisite  bijou,  the  Mai- 
son  Carree,  without  a  doubt  the  most  beautiful 
vestige  of  antiquity  out  of  Italy,  and  excelled  but 
by  few,  even  in  that  chosen  land  of  the  past.  The 
Maison  Carree  in  its  masonry  contrasts  most  glar- 
ingly with  the  amphitheatre.  Its  workmanship  is 
of  the  extremes!  nicety,  and  the  chaste  entablature 


184  M.SMES 

of  its  Corinthian  colmnus  is  so  ex(]iiisite,  in  its 
frettt  d  moiildinn:,  ns  to  possess  all  tin;  delicacy  of 
the  liiH'st  lace-work.  This  reiiiarkahle  huildin^ 
has  been  employed,  dnrinij  the  lon^;  lajise  of  cen- 
turies, lor  manifold  purposes.  In  one  a:ie  it  lias 
been  thc^  relij^ious  tenij)l(r.  Another  has  seen  it 
degraded  to  the  vile  uses  of  the  stal)le.  At  pre- 
sent it  serves  as  a  museum,  and  contains  several 
paintings  ;  hut  none  reniarkahle  for  their  excel- 
lence. TIk;  desiiiM  and  construction  of  the  build- 
ing are  extremely  beautiful,  and,  from  its  fairylike 
elegance  of  proportion,  here  wedded  to  strength, 
it  has  been  selected  as  a  model  for  many  elegant 
modern  edifices.  So  perfect  is  the  universal  sym- 
metry, that  the  building,  at  first  sight,  strikes  your 
eye  as  much  smaller  than  it  really  is,  and  it  is  not 
until  after  taking  a  minute  survey  of  the  whole, 
that  you  become  aware  of  its  actual  dimensions. 
There  is  not  a  single  line  of  harshness  in  its  whole 
contour,  and  the  eye  fastens  upon  its  admirable 
proportions  with  the  same  delight  that  the  glowing 
canvass  or  the  breathing  marble  could  inspire. 

A  few  miles  from  the  city  of  Nismes  is  another 
relic  of  Roman  grandeur,  which  the  traveller  should 
by  no  means  omit  visiting.  I  refer  to  the  aque- 
duct of  the  Pont  du  Gard.  There  is  a  kind  of 
mellow,  moonlight  softness  about  this  pile,  that 
fascinates  the  beholder.  In  dimensions  it  is  much 
inferior  to  the  celebrated  aqueduct  at  Caserta,  the 
most  colossal  undertaking  of  the  kind  that  modern 
or  perhaps  ancient  times  have  witnessed  ;  in  sym- 
metrical elegance  and  harmony,  however,  the  Pont 


AQUEDUCT   OF   THE   FOJ\T   DU    GARD.  185 

du  Gard  much  excels  it.  The  stone  that  com- 
poses it  is  soft  and  easily  broken,  and  yet  it  has 
been  able  to  resist  the  effects  of  time  and  temper- 
ature for  two  thousand  years. 

Not  far  from  the  Pont,  which  is  concealed  by 
surrounding  hills  from  the  view,  until  you  are  al- 
most upon  it,  I  met  a  laborer,  and  requested  him 
to  show  me  the  nearest  way  to  the  object  of  my 
search  ;  he  accompanied  me  to  the  very  spot.  At 
my  request,  with  his  rude  implement  of  labor  he 
detached  from  the  pile  a  small  fragment  of  stone, 
which  1  possessed  myself  of  with  all  the  avidity 
of  an  antiquary,  and  subsequently,  for  lack  of 
better,  with  the  same  rough  substitute  for  a  chisel, 
he  carved  upon  the  time-worn  rock  the  initials 
of  my  name.  Learning  is  but  very  little  diffused 
among  the  lower  classes  in  Southern  France,  and 
my  rustic  friend  had  no  more  definite  idea  of  the 
form  that  letters  should  assume,  than  he  had  of 
the  Man  in  the  Moon.  Nevertheless,  with  pickaxe 
in  hand,  he  followed  the  course  my  finger  marked 
out,  and  soon,  engraved  upon  the  yellow  rock, 
appeared  broad  and  deep,  though  not  in  nicest 
workmanship,  the  wished-for  letters.  I  gave  my 
artist  two  francs  for  his  trouble,  and  we  parted, 
no  doubt  mutually  pleased  with  each  other. 


24 


CHAPTER   XIV. 

Marseilles.  —  The  Quai.  —  Water  Excursions.  —  Hotel  de  Ville. — 
Cause  of  the  Neglect  of  the  Fine  Arts.  — The  Old  Town. —  The 
New  Town.  —  TliLutn-.  —  Amusements.  —  Female  Pedlers  in  Cafc^s. 

—  Manners  of  tiie  Jnhahitants.  —  Charlatanerie.  —  Tir  au  Pistolet 

—  Montagnes  Russes.  —  Toulon. — The  Harbour.  —  The  Monte- 
bello  Shij)  of  the  Line.  —  Royal  Arsenal.  —  diameter  of  the  Mar- 
seillais.  —  Their  Language  and  Personal  Ai>iieurance. — The  Wo- 
men of  Southern  France.  —  A  Remark  on  their  jxculiar  Traits, 
Moral  and  Physical. 

Upon  returning  to  Nismes,  we  again  took  a  sur- 
vey of  the  curiosities  in  which  this  interesting  city 
abounds,  and  then  secured  seats  in  the  diligence 
for  Marseilles.  The  traveller  will  not  forget  his 
first  glance  at  the  blue  waters  of  the  Mediterra- 
nean, the  sea  that  washes  the  classic  shores  of 
Italy  and  Greece,  with  those  of  distant  Palestine. 
The  orb  of  day  was  but  just  risen,  as  our  vehicle 
surmounted  the  summit  of  a  hill,  that  commanded 
a  distant  view  of  its  wide  expanse;  the  first  glimpse 
I  caught  of  its  azure  swell,  filled  my  heart  with  a 
thrill  of  gladness.  Long  had  been  the  time  since 
I  had  gazed  upon  the  "  glad  waters  of  the  dark 
blue  sea,"  and,  at  their  first  vision,  there  came  over 
me  those  vivid  emotions  of  pleasure  that  cause  the 
heart  to  beat  strong  and  rapid,  as  when,  after  long 
separation,  we  hail  again  the  welcome  presence  of 
a  true  and  tried  friend.  We  entered  the  city,  and 
took  lodgings  at  the  Hotel  des  Ambassadeurs. 


THE   PORT   OF   MARSEILLES.  187 

The  traveller,  who  finds  himself  for  the  first 
time  in  the  city  of  Marseilles,  will  be  surprised  at 
the  peculiar  and  picturesque  aspect  of  all  that 
meets  his  eye  ;  the  long,  regular,  and  well-built 
streets,  with  the  bustling  throng  that  gives  them 
life  and  animation;  the  various  and  picturesque 
costumes  one  is  constantly  meeting  with  ;  then, 
too,  the  splendid  cafes^  glittering  with  their  hundred 
mirrors,  and  swarming  with  careless  multitudes, 
engaged  in  sipping  their  aromatic  beverage,  or 
absorbed  in  the  oblivious  cigar,  or  intent  upon  the 
unfailing  resource  of  domino.  All  is  rife  with  mo- 
tion and  gayety. 

Turn  now  your  steps  towards  the  Quai,  and  the 
scene  is  yet  more  animated.  Within  the  crowded 
port  are  streaming  the  flags  of  every  maritime  na- 
tion. I  saw  the  "  star-spangled  banner  "  floating 
cheerily  in  the  breeze,  and,  fanned  by  the  same 
airs,  were  jauntily  sporting  the  flags  of  England 
and  of  the  Netherlands,  with  those  of  the  numer- 
ous powers  that  line  the  extended  coasts  of  the 
Mediterranean  and  Levant.  Close  by  the  piers 
were  moored  scores  of  boats,  gayly  cushioned,  their 
several  masters  eagerly  requesting  the  precious 
freight  of  your  person.  These  water  cabriolets  call 
to  mind  the  land  ones  of  Paris ;  their  masters 
are  equally  officious,  and  happily  under  a  like  ex- 
cellent supervision.  Motioning  assent  to  one  of 
these  Neptunes,  you  leap  into  his  ready  boat ;  at  a 
loss,  however,  to  conceive  how  he  will  manage  to 
extricate  himself  from  the  tangled  mass  of  skifls 
and  wherries    that    environ    you.     This    he    does, 


188  MARSEILLES. 

however,  very  dexterously  ;  but  the  secret  is  in 
the  construction  of  the  boats.  They  are  put  to- 
gether in  a  manner  fnm  enough  to  resist  the  rudest 
concussion.  A  few  strokes  of  the  oar,  and  you 
are  floating  on  the  turbid  bosom  of  the  wave,  in 
the  open  space,  while  on  either  side  the  shipping 
extends,  dense  and  unbroken,  to  the  fortress  that 
commands  the  entrance  of  the  port.  These  boats 
pull  far  out  into  the  open  harbour  ;  you  take  them 
either  by  the  course,  as  it  is  called,  or  by  the  hour, 
and  the  terms,  being  regulated  by  law,  are  suf- 
ficiently moderate.  The  better  class  of  boats  are 
provided  with  sails.  At  the  close  of  a  sultry  af- 
ternoon, when  the  faint  evening  breeze  is  spring- 
ing up,  it  is  a  pleasant  mode  of  passing  an  hour, 
as,  reclining  on  the  cushion,  with  flowing  sheet 
expanded  to  the  breeze,  you  glide  over  the  serene 
and  peaceful  w^aters,  absorbed  in  those  pleasing 
reveries  the  soft  scene  naturally  gives  birth  to. 

There  is  to  me  a  luxury  in  scenes  like  this  ; 
the  gentle  zephyr,  that  wafts  you  along,  breathes 
softly  over  the  awakened  frame  ;  Nature  seems  all 
quietude  and  repose ;  no  sound  breaks  in  upon 
the  stillness,  save  that  of  the  rippling  waters, 
as  in  faint  murmurs  they  close  and  eddy  around 
the  advancing  prow.  Were  I  a  poet,  I  would 
woo  the  coy  muse  under  the  soft  influences  of  mo- 
ments like  these  ;  for  it  is  then  that  the  immortal 
mind,  freed  from  the  debasing  contact  of  a  sordid 
world,  expands  under  the  conscious  possession  of 
its  own  glorious  attributes  ;  it  is  then  that  present 
themselves  in   luminous  array,   before   the   soaring 


CAUSE  OF  THE  NEGLECT  OF  THE  FINE  ARTS.      189 

imagination,  those  mysterious  embodyings  of  the 
Sublime  and  the  Beautiful,  whose  fiery  impress  shall 
glow  in  after  time  on  the  inspired  page,  to  give 
the  world  assurance  of  that  heaven-born  flame, 
which,  albeit  not  intense  as  in  ages  past,  is  yet 
not  all  extinct. 

The  city  of  Marseilles  is  extremely  deficient  as 
regards  public  edifices ;  there  is  also  a  most  lam- 
entable paucity  of  churches,  and  not  a  building 
in  the  city,  that  I  can  recollect,  which  is  worthy 
the  dignified  name  of  Cathedral ;  a  combination  of 
circumstances,  it  must  be  confessed,  that  argues 
but  little  in  favor  of  the  Marseillais,  as  far  as  good 
taste  or  morality  and  religion  are  concerned.  The 
sole  public  edifice  in  Marseilles,  that  would  attract 
the  stranger's  attention,  is  the  Hotel  de  Ville, 
erected  after  the  designs  of  the  first  French  archi- 
tect of  his  day.  To  his  correctness  of  taste  and 
nicety  of  chisel,  the  elaborate,  beautifully  worked 
facade  bears  abundant  witness. 

As  it  respects  the  fine  arts,  the  city  is  also 
equally  deficient.  If  we  except  one  or  two  masterly 
productions  by  David,  illustrative  of  the  Plague  at 
Marseilles,  and  some  half  dozen  other  respectable 
ones  by  various  masters,  treating  principally  upon 
the  same  subject,  the  student  of  painting  can  find 
nothing:  in  his  art  to  elicit  admiration.  These  facts 
will  appear  singular  to  the  reader,  upon  the  reflec- 
tion that  Marseilles  is  the  third  city,  in  point  of 
population  and  commerce,  of  the  most  enlightened 
kingdom  upon  the  European  continent ;  but  the 
circumstance    may   be   easily  accounted  for.     The 


190  MARSEILLES. 

city  was  originally  built  solely  lor  cominercial  pur- 
poses ;  its  situation  explains  that,  and  under  the 
auspices  of  commerce  alone  has  ii  swelled  to  its 
present  magnitude.  In  Europe,  capitals  only  are 
embellished  and  adorned  ;  the  fine  arts  but  rarely 
deign  to  visit  the  haunts  where  busy  Commerce 
holds  the  sway.  Hence,  in  Marseilles  we  must 
look  lor  those  advantages,  which  an  exclusively 
business  city  is  presumed  to  possess ;  these  we 
certainly  discover.  In  addition  to  this,  the  city, 
taken  as  a  whole,  may  be  denominated  decidedly 
handsome.  It  contains  a  population  ol  a  hundred 
thousand,  or,  according  to  other  accounts,  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty  thousand  souls.  Marseilles  is 
divided  into  the  old  and  new  town.  The  old  town 
is  of  course  a  dark,  confused  mass  of  buildings, 
barely  perforated  by  dingy,  sombre  streets,  within 
whose  narrow  limits  the  sun's  genial  rays  can  find 
place  but  an  hour  or  two  in  the  day  ;  in  conse- 
quence, they  are  damp,  and,  what  is  worse,  not  a 
little  noisome,  from  the  filth  that  but  too  usually 
disgraces  the  vieux  quartiers  of  French  provincial 
towns. 

But  the  new  town,  which  is  very  extensive,  is 
laid  out  in  an  open  and  regular  manner ;  the  streets 
are  wide,  straight,  and  airy,  —  some  of  them  strik- 
ingly handsome.  The  Rue  de  Rome  is  considered 
by  many  travellers  the  finest  street  upon  the  con- 
tinent of  Europe  ;  its  remarkable  length,  piercing 
the  city  through  in  a  perfectly  direct  line,  with 
the  regularity  and  just  proportion  of  its  buildings, 
certainly  gives  it  no  poor  claim  to  such  precedence. 


THEATRE  —AMUSEMENTS.  191 

The  Rue  St.  Ferrcol  and  the  Rue  de  Paiadis,  run- 
ning parallel  with  the  former,  are  also  elegant 
streets.  The  Rue  de  Beauvau,  which  opens  upon 
the  Canebiere,  though  inferior  to  the  before-men- 
tioned avenues  in  length,  is  yet  more  conspicuous 
from  the  great  size  and  towering  height  of  its 
edifices.  In  this  street  are  to  be  found  most  of 
the  principal  hotels  ;  the  Hotel  des  Ambassadeurs^ 
where  we  took  lodgings,  the  Hotel  des  Princes, 
Hotel  de  Beauvau,  &c.  Here  also  is  the  Theatre, 
which,  standing  isolated  in  the  midst,  terminates 
the  street,  giving  its  name  to  an  extensive  square, 
of  which  it  forms  a  side.  This  theatre  is  a  large 
building,  and  rather  imposing  in  its  external  ap- 
pearance ;  the  interior,  however,  cannot  be  pro- 
nounced elegant.  The  performances,  although  tol- 
erable, are  by  no  means  of  that  high  order  one 
would  expect  to  discover  in  the  principal  salle  de 
spectacles  of  a  city  like  Marseilles.  Much  confusion 
arises  from  the  circumstance  of  every  one  being  ad- 
mitted indiscriminately  behind  the  scenes,  a  practice, 
which,  besides  embarrassing  the  entire  business  of 
the  stage,  is  very  destructive  to  the  general  effect 
of  the  pieces  represented,  as  well  as  to  the  general 
reputation  of  the  actresses  that  appear  in  them. 

The  amusements  at  Marseilles,  during  the  warm 
season,  are  of  such  a  nature  as  the  enervatin^^  in- 
fluence  of  the  climate  would  naturally  predispose 
to.  The  cafes,  with  their  agreeable  concomitants, 
appear  to  be  the  principal  seats  of  attraction.  You 
may  frequently  observe  the  habitues  of  these  resorts, 
comfortably  seated  on  chairs  or  benches  disposed 


192  MARSEILLES. 

along  the  trottoirs,  sipping  tlieir  cofiee  or  contem- 
plating the  cigar's  wavy  wreath,  by  the  hour  to- 
gether ;  hut  those  are  usually  foreigners,  as  the 
indolent  Turk  or  saturnine  Spaniard.  The  French- 
man is  too  mercurial  for  so  long  a  seance. 

Apropos  of  the  cafes,   there   is  one   thing  about 
them,  which  I  do  not  remember  having  seen  in  ei- 
ther those  of  Paris,  Lyons,  or  Bordeaux.     1  allude 
to  the  custom  of  peddling,   or  vending  petty  arti- 
cles, which  prevails  in  these  resorts    to  a  great  ex- 
tent.    The   visiter   is   scarcely  seated   at  his  table, 
awaiting  the  arrival  of  the  garron,  before  his  auricu- 
lar nerves  are  tickled  with  the  mellifluous  tones  of  a 
voice,  breathing  out  accents  like  these.     Monsieur^ 
voulez-vous  une   telle  ou  une  telle  chose  ?  fen  ai  de 
touts  variftc;  upon  turning,  you  behold  at  your  side 
a  pretty  pedleress,  with  her  magasin  de  modes  com- 
pressed within  the  narrow  compass  of  a  single  box. 
A    spice   of   curiosity,   or   a  hint   from   that  innate 
feeling,  which  ever  induces  a  well-bred  man  to  ex- 
tend regard  and  protection  to  the  beau  sexe,  prompts 
the  unsuspecting    stranger    to    inspect    the    pretty 
vender's   merchandise.     Here    her    grand    point   is 
gained.     A  powerful  battery  of  smile  and  repartee, 
effectively    served    by    the    piquant    features   of   a 
pretty  brunette,  can  easily  accomplish  the  rest ;  and 
the  result  is,   that,  almost  unconsciously,  the  pur- 
chaser   finds    himself   loaded    with    a   quantity    of 
articles,   for   which  he   has  not  the    least  possible 
use.    But  this,    the    more  immediate,    is    not  the 
worst  result.     The    improvident  stranger   straight- 
way becomes   a  mark  for  the  whole  corps  of  the 


MANNERS   OF   THE   INHABITANTS.  193 

trafficking  sisterhood ;  and,  before  a  week  has  passed 
over  his  head  in  Marseilles,  his  purse  will  assure 
him,  that,  whatever  may  be  his  softer  hopes  in 
perspective,  he  has  at  least  for  that  established  a 
very  ruinous  precedent. 

There  is,  it  seems  to  me,  a  laisser  oiler  vein  per- 
vading the  manners  of  all  ranks  of  society  at  Mar- 
seilles. Liberties  are  suffered  with  much  toler- 
ance, which,  if  taken  in  colder  regions,  would  no 
doubt  subject  the  offender  to  personal  chastisement 
from  the  annoyed  party,  or  consign  him  to  the  ten- 
der mercy  of  the  law's  myrmidons.  For  instance, 
you  are  sitting,  some  delightful  day,  at  your  open 
window,  in  the  third  or  fourth  story,  as  we  will 
suppose,  of  your  hotel.  All  of  a  sudden,  your 
meditations  are  interrupted  by  the  grinning  appari- 
tion of  a  monkey,  fantastically  costumed,  in  the 
act  of  scrambling  over  your  window-sill.  Around 
the  animal's  neck  is  a  collar,  from  which  depends 
a  small  chain,  and  to  that  is  attached  a  cord.  Be- 
low, with  the  extremity  of  the  string  in  hand, 
stands,  in  supplicating  posture,  a  little  boy  (Savoy- 
ards they  are  termed),  who  implores  your  gener- 
osity pour  la  grace  de  del  to  the  amount  of  a 
few  Hards.  You  throw  him  the  trifling  pittance; 
the  monkey  acknowledges  the  donation  with  a 
graceful  obeisance,  then  quits  his  elevated  position 
and  descends  once  more  to  terra  Jirma.  In  in- 
stances like  the  preceding,  the  monkey  generally 
constitutes  the  entire  property,  both  real  and  per- 
sonal, of  his  boy-master,  and  on  this  account,  as 
well  as  from  the  natural  instigation  of  a  kindly 
25 


194  MARSEILLES. 

disposition,  that  all  tratles,  however  iiiiniljlc,  should 
have  their  (juota  of  success,  the  Freiichuiau  gives 
his  suns,  and  overlooks  the  intrusion. 

TIk!  lower  classes  in  the  South  of  France  are 
ignorant,  and,  as  a  natural  consequence,  supersti- 
tious. While  I  was  at  Mars('ill(;s,  a  convincing 
proof  of  the  truth  of  this  observation  was  afforded 
me  ;  it  was,  hv  the  bye,  an  incident  similar  to  that 
which  Auber  has  selected  as  a  vehicle  for  the 
charming  music  of  Le  Philtre.  One  day,  while 
walking  in  the  Cmicbure,  1  was  startled  by  the 
loud  music  of  drum  and  fife,  and,  rej)airing  to  llie 
spot  from  whence  the  sounds  proceeded,  1  discov- 
ered, mounted  upon  the  box  of  a  carriage,  to  which 
were  attached  two  jaded  animals,  a  personage  gay- 
ly  dressed,  in  a  costume  similar  to  that  worn  by 
our  crack  circus  riders.  W  hen  a  sufficient  multi- 
tude was  collected  the  music  ceased,  and  all  await- 
ed in  respectful  silence  the  health-restoring  words 
that  were  to  issue  from  the  lips  of  this  itinerant 
iEsculapius.  With  a  phial  in  either  hand,  he  com- 
menced haranguing  the  crowd  most  energetically 
upon  the  virtue  of  his  nostrums.  For  all  ailments 
incidental  to  the  body  or  mind,  for  the  sharp  pangs 
of  unrequited  love,  the  subtile  poison  of  green-eyed 
jealousy,  had  he  infallible  panaceas.  In  fine,  his 
medicaments  were  of  a  nature  potent  enough  to 
put  to  flight  the  whole  army  of  diseases.  The 
crowd  pressed  forward  to  possess  themselves  of 
those  precious  phials,  eagerly  exchanging  their  coin 
for  elixirs  of  such  inestimable  value.  The  farce 
continues  until  Monsieur  Charlatan  has  got  rid  of 


MONTAGNES  RUSSES.  195 

his  drugs,  and  his  patients  of  their  money,  when 
the  doctor,  like  a  skilful  general,  draws  off  his 
forces  to  make  preparations  for  another  campaign. 

While   on   the   subject  of  amusements  in  Mar- 
seilles, I  must  not  neglect  to  mention  the  Tir  au 
Pistolet,  where  a  gentleman  may  find  it  worth  the 
while  to  kill  an  hour  or  two  in  improving  his  cor- 
rectness of  eye  and  hand,  thus  combining  a   prof- 
itable   result    with    the    lighter  enjoyment   of   the 
passing  hour.     In  France,  unless  a  man  be  gifted 
with  a  peaceful   and  placid  disposition,  he  should 
not   neglect   becoming    a   good   shot   or    a    skilful 
swordsman,    accomplishments    he    must  possess  in 
self-defence.     This  over,  you  can  jump  into  your 
cabriolet,  and,  leaving  the  dusty  city  behind,  repair  to 
where  the  Montagues  Russes  offer  to  the  stranger 
a  novel  and  exciting  species  of  amusement.     These 
Montagues  Russes,  which,  it  is  unnecessary  to  in- 
form the  reader,  are  mountains  of  wood,  consist  of 
semicircular  railways,  elevated  at  the  superior  part 
to  a  very  considerable  height.     You  ascend  to  this 
lofty  point  by  means  of  an  inclined  plane,   thick- 
studded  with  transverse  pieces  of  wood  to  prevent 
the  feet  from  slipping.    Arrived  at  the  desired  emi- 
nence, you   enter  a  little  shed,  where  are   several 
cars  ready  for  immediate  service,  and  a  man  in  wait- 
ing to  attend  your  behest.     The  descent  from  this 
point  looks  not  a  little  perilous  to  the  unpractised 
eye  ;  but,  being  assured  there  is  no  actual  danger, 
your  friend  and  self  enter  the  car,  which  is  intended 
to  accommodate  but  two.     Securely  braced  in  the 
seat,  each,  with  one  arm  around  the  other's  waist, 


196  EXCURSION   TO  TOULON. 

(its  fellow  firmly  compressing  the  back  of  the  low 
car),  anxiously  awaits  the  impulse  that  hurls  the 
light  vehicle  down  the  precipitous  descent  of  lifteen 
or  twenty  feet,  w  iih  a  momentum  which  it  would 
seem  must  swerve  it  from  the  perpendicular,  and 
involve  the  rash  occupants  in  immediate  destruc- 
tion. But  no  ;  the  only  result  is  a  stunning  ve- 
locity, outspeeding  the  wings  of  the  rushing  wind, 
and  you  are  whirled  onward,  scarce  able  to  draw 
breath,  far  along  the  course,  until  at  last  the  dead 
level,  and  obstacles  interposed  for  the  purpose,  put 
a  period  to  your  swift  career.  After  a  few  trials, 
this  exercise  loses  its  aspect  of  terror,  and  commu- 
nicates only  an  agreeable  excitement.  It  is,  in- 
deed, quite  a  popular  diversion,  and  during  festivals 
and  holydays  forms  no  inconsiderable  feature  in 
the  sports  of  both  sexes. 

We  had  now  exhausted  the  curiosities  and  amuse- 
ments of  Marseilles,  and  tiiat  fell  demon,  that  ever 
stalks  hand  in  hand  with  Satiety,  strenuously  in- 
sisted upon  a  change  of  scene.  We  turned  our 
attention  first  of  all  upon  Toulon.  It  was  from 
this  city  that  we  had  originally  intended  to  take 
passage  on  board  one  of  the  government  steam- 
ships for  Algiers,  but  the  plan  never  ripened  into 
execution.  My  friend,  an  English  naval  officer  with 
whom  we  had  become  acquainted,  and  myself,  se- 
cured the  coupe  of  the  diligence  for  Toulon.  We 
set  out  upon  the  excursion  at  about  six  o'clock, 
P.  M.,  and,  although  the  distance  but  little  exceeds 
forty  miles,  did  not  arrive  until  nearly  the  same 
hour  the   ensuing  morning.     Toulon  is  a  city  con- 


APPEARANCE   OF   THE   HARBOUR.  197 

taining  a  population  of  twenty  thousand  souls.  It 
is  built  upon  a  narrow  strip  of  land,  that  intervenes 
between  the  base  of  a  lofty  hill  and  the  blue  wa- 
ters of  the  Mediterranean.  As  a  naval  depot,  it  is 
a  station  of  great  importance,  ranking  as  the  sec- 
ond in  the  kingdom. 

The  harbour  of  Toulon  is  admirably  adapted  by 
nature  for  the  purposes  to  which  man  has  applied 
it.  A  lofty  range  of  hills,  encircling  it  on  all  sides 
save  one,  interposes  an  impassable  barrier  to  the 
infuriate  tempest ;  the  only  pass,  where  the  foe 
could  assail  it  with  chance  of  success,  is  of  com- 
paratively little  width,  and  could  be  easily  defend- 
ed at  an  hour's  warnins;.  Within  this  secure  in- 
closure,  all  is  well  arranged  and  commodious  ;  the 
roomy,  noiseless  expanse,  that  could  affbrd  wide 
anchorage  to  hundreds  of  ships,  contrasts  agreea- 
bly with  the  busy  yet  contracted  port  of  Marseilles. 
The  waters  are  clear  *  and  profound,  and,  upon 
their  unruffled  bosom,  ride  securely  the  proud  bul- 
warks of  Maritime  France.  Here  the  colossal  three- 
decker  and  the  beautiful  frigate  were  sleeping  on 
the  unchanging  wave,t  until  the  thundering  voice 
of  War  should  arouse  their  latent  energies,  and  bid 

*  The  waters  of  the  Mediten-anean  at  Toulon  are  remarkably 
clear  and  translucent.  While  visiting  that  port,  we  took  advantage 
of  a  fine  day  for  an  excursion  about  the  harbour,  and  engaged  a 
small  saU-boat  for  the  purpose  ;  here  and  there,  where  it  consisted  of 
more  shining  particles,  the  bottom  could  be  distinctly  discerned  at 
the  depth  of  seven  or  eight  fathoms.  So  clear  and  tranquil  was  the 
element,  that  our  little  boat  seemed  suspended,  as  though  m  au-,  upon 
its  motionless  bosom. 

t  The  Mediterranean,  along  the  shores  of  France,  is  not  perceptibly 
affected  by  tides. 


198  TOULON.  — Tin:  montebeij.o. 

tliom  once  more  expose  to  the  wooiiij^  Ijrceze  each 
ready  sail,  and  ploui^h  again  the  briny  deep. 

in  tlic   course  of  the   day,  as  we   were  roaming 
about   the   streets,  our  Englisli  friend  encountered 
an    intimate    acfjuaintance,    who    held    a    situation 
similar  to  his  own   in   the  French  Marine.      Under 
passj)ort  of  this   irentlcman's    epaulette,  we    were 
admitted  to  a  view  of  all   worth   the   seeing  in  the 
Arsenal    and    Navy   Yard   of   Toulon ;    and,    w  hat 
gratified  us  more  than  all,  we  were  enabled  through 
his  politeness  to  visit  the  fnst-rate  ship  of  the  line, 
Montebello.  This  splendid  three-decker,  perhaps  the 
finest  ship  in  the  French  Navy,  mounted  a  battery 
of  one  hundred  and   twenty  guns,  all  at  that  time 
on  board.     She  was  in  complete  order,  ready  for 
sea,  and   was  expected  to  sail  in  eight  or  ten  days 
from  that  time.     The  officers  of  the  ship,  with  the 
proverbial  courtesy  of  Frenchmen,  allowed   us  am- 
ple opportunity  of  gratifying   the   stranger's  beset- 
ting sin,  curiosity.    For  myself,  —  as  it  was  the  first 
ship  of  the  line,   belonging  to   a  foreign  power,   I 
had  ever  enjoyed   the   opportunity  of  visiting,  and 
the  largest  one  upon  whose  deck  my  foot  had  ever 
trod,  excepting  our  own  sea-monster,  the  redoubt- 
able Pennsylvania,  —  I  gave  free  scope  to  my  curi- 
osity, taking  a  minute  survey  of  every  thing.     The 
three  decks  of  this  noble   ship  displayed   the  most 
formidable  battery   I    had  ever  witnessed,   and,  as 
if  to  relieve  the  eye  after  a  contemplation  of  these 
death-dealing  engines,  every  thing  around  w^as  ar- 
ranged in  that  neat,  ship-shape  manner,  so  conso- 
nant with  the   feelings  of  your  true  sailor.     One 


RETURN    TO   MARSEILLES.  199 

might  well,  while  gazing  upon  her  formidable  ar- 
mament and  admirable  appointments,  exclaim  with 
the  impassioned  Poet, 

"  Who  would  not  brave  the  battle-fire,  the  wreck, 
To  move  the  mouarch  of  her  peopled  deck." 

After  leaving  the  side  of  this  fine  ship,  whose 
imposing  appearance  I  shall  not  soon  forget,  we 
visited  the  Royal  Arsenal,  and  passed  through  its 
various  apartments.  Here,  in  well-burnished  array, 
glittered  arms  of  every  description,  offensive  and 
defensive.  It  was  indeed  a  brave  display  of  war- 
like implements.  But  I  had  seen  yet  finer  collec- 
tions than  this ;  that  at  the  Tower  in  London, 
those  at  the  Muste  d^Ariillerie  in  Paris,  and  the 
Grand  Arsenal  at  Vienna,  being  more  curious  and 
complete. 

The  day  was  thus  passed  in  the  agreeable  occu- 
pations I  have  essayed  to  describe,  and,  when  the 
afternoon  was  fading  into  the  dusk  of  advancing 
eve,  we  had  recourse  once  again  to  the  diligence, 
and  retraced  the  slow  and  weary  way  to  Mar- 
seilles. Arriving  there  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, we  repaired  hastily  to  our  hotel,  and  I  for  one 
lost  no  time  in  summoning  to  my  aid  the  coy 
nymph.  Sleep,  in  whose  Lethean  embrace  slum- 
bered each  sense,  until  the  sun  was  shinins:  bright 
and  high  in  the  blue  heavens. 

Before  bidding  a  final  adieu  to  this  city,  I  must 
request  the  tolerance  of  the  courteous  reader  for 
a  moment,  to  be  employed  in  touching  upon  the 
character,  customs,  language,  and  general  appear- 
ance of  its  inhabitants.    The  Marseillais,   I   refer 


200  MARSEILLES. 

more  particularly  to  the  mass,  have  the  reputation 
of  possessing  a  lickle  and  insubordinate  disposition. 
During  the  terrible  struggles  of  the  Revolution,  a 
large  body  of  the  Marseillais  played  a  most  con- 
spicuous j)art  in  its  sanguinary  orgies ;  and  their 
character  to  this  day  is  essentially  the  same,  though 
modified  of  course  by  circumstances.  Add  to  this 
the  fact  of  their  being  removed  more  than  five 
hundred  miles  from  the  capital,  and  it  will  not  be 
wondered  at,  that  they  feel  but  comparatively  little 
interest  in  the  general  government,  and  are,  when 
occasion  offers,  something  })rone  to  sedition  and 
revolt.  Under  the  iron  rule  of  the  present  mon- 
arch, there  is,  indeed,  but  faint  probability  of  such 
occasion's  presenting  ;  for  his  policy  is  based  upon 
safer  and  surer  principles  than  that  which  regu- 
lated the  cabinets  of  his  predecessors.  The  inces- 
sant patrol,  the  martial  notes  of  drum  and  horn, 
swelling  ever  on  the  air,  the  burnished  tube  and 
ready  bayonet,  speak  to  all  in  a  language  none  can 
misunderstand. 

With  respect  to  the  language,  or  patois,  as  it  is 
termed,  almost  wholly  in  use  among  the  lower 
orders  of  the  people,  it  is  a  dialect  exhibiting  but 
faint  resemblance  to  legitimate  French,  and  such 
as  no  one  from  Paris  or  the  northern  departments 
of  France  could  in  the  least  understand.  It  is 
said  to  bear  a  very  ancient  date,  anterior  to  that 
of  the  French  language  as  now  spoken.  In  its 
terminations  it  is  nmsical,  and  well  adapted  to  poesy 
and  song.  This  dialect  is  no  doubt  either  the  same 
as,  or  very  analogous  to,  the  Prove?icale,  in  which 


THE  MARSEILLAIS.  201 

the  gallant  troubadours  of  the  Middle  Ages  were 
wont  to  clothe  their  chivalrous  minstrelsy,  as  they 
sighed  forth  their  faith  and  devotion  to  the  listen- 
ing ear  of  ladye  love,  or  sang  in  bolder  measure 
the  fierce  delights  that  wait  on  the  red  battle. 

As  I  have  said  above,  this  patois  is  in  universal 
use  among  the  lower  classes.  To  acquire  the 
French  idioms,  they  are  obliged  to  study  them  as 
would  foreigners,  so  that  the  speaking  the  lan- 
guage of  their  country  in  an  intelligible,  not  to  say 
grammatical  manner,  is  held  as  quite  an  accom- 
plishment, placing  its  possessor  a  grad«  above  his 
fellows.  Of  course,  these  remarks  have  no  refer- 
ence whatever  to  the  better  classes,  among  whom 
the  language  of  the  realm  is  spoken  with  as  much 
purity  and  elegance  as  in  any  circles  of  the  king- 
dom. 

In  person  the  Marseillais  rather  exceeds  the 
middle  height.  He  possesses  a  quick  and  lively 
air,  and  a  physiognomy  that  betrays  an  admixture 
of  Italian  and  Spanish  with  the  original  Gallic 
stock.  The  women  may  be,  collectively,  consid- 
ered handsome ;  on  their  olive  cheeks  dwell  the 
warm  charms  of  the  piquante  brunette  ;  their  bril- 
liant eyes  and  dark  locks  tell  of  the  glowing  South, 
and  give  token  of  those  ardent  feelings  which  Na- 
ture has  implanted  within  them.  In  beauty  of 
feature,  and  symmetrical  elegance  of  person,  the 
women  of  Southern  France  lose  not  in  a  compar- 
ison with  the  daughters  of  sunny  Italy,  but  they 
yield  the  palm  to  the  dark-eyed  houris  of  Spain. 
They  are  generally  distinguished  by  an  easy  grace- 
26 


202  MARSKIIXR8. 

fulness  of  m;innor,  niid  :iii  ii^rceahle,  ])la)fiil  vi- 
vacitN.  'I"li;ii  iIhsc.  in  a  coiiiiirN  \\  lu-re  female 
virtue  is  not  jjioioctcd  hv  ilie  strong  Ijarrier  of 
j)ul)lic  ()j)ini()n,  siioiild  Irad  to  oecasioiial  instances 
of  I'railty  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  ;  but  in  takinj^ 
note  of  tiie  evil  we  should  not  allow  the  }^ood  to 
escajx;  Us  ;  \\c  should  not  overlook  ihc  ihousiujd 
examples  of  ihai  dcij).  unchan^^inj;  devotion,  dwel- 
linir  in  hearts  that  allow  no  medium  Ixrtween  love 
and  hate.  Shall  the  rei^ions  of  the  South,  where 
the  sun's  hurninj^  rays  excite  into  fever  the  cours- 
ing current  of  life,  be  submitl(;d  to  a  test  aj)j)lica- 
ble  aloni;  to  those  colder  climes,  \\  here  the  chilling 
snows  and  icv  barriers  of  well  nigh  j)erennial  win- 
ter congeal  into  comparative  torpor  the  softer  emo- 
tions of  the  soul  r  Jiut  I  must  leave  this  question 
to  be  answered  according  to  the  fancy  of  the  en- 
lightened reader,  and  resume  a  tour,  longer  inter- 
rupted at  this  point  than  was  my  purpose. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

Montpellier.  —  Promenades.  —  Ancient  Pile.  —  Medical  ScliooK  — 
Young  and  Narcissa.  —  Naixissji's  Tomb.  — The  Canal  de  Langue- 
doc.  —  Travelling  on  it.  —  Toulouse.  —  Objects  of  Interest.  —  An- 
tiquities.—  Places  of  Amusement.  —  Journey  to  Bordeaux. —  De- 
scription of  the  City.  —  Theatre.  —  Com  Mill.  —  Montaigne. — 
Bordeaux  and  Mai-seilles  compared.  —  Travelling  by  Malle  Poste. 
—  Route  to  Paris.  —  Poictiers.  —  Tours.  —  Extensive  Quai.  — Tlie 
Loire.  —  Blois.  —  Orleans.  —  La  Pucellc.  —  Arrival  at  Paris. 

Once  more  we  are  moving  along  the  proud  cotes 
of  the  classic  Mediterranean,  and  Montpellier  is 
our  place  of  destination.  Montpellier!  how  that 
name  calls  forth  the  sweet  associations  of  serene 
and  cloudless  skies,  of  balmy  and  health-restoring 
airs.  To  this  city  how  oft  has  the  fond  invalid, 
cheered  by  the  delusive  rays  of  hope,  traced  his 
last,  lingering  journey,  to  find,  alas  !  but  the  rem- 
edy of  the  tomb. 

The  city  of  Montpellier  is  distant  about  seventy 
miles,  in  a  northwesterly  direction  from  Marseilles. 
It  is  situated  about  five  miles  from  the  Mediterra- 
nean, and  enjoys  a  locale  bold,  elevated,  and  airy. 
Its  elevated  site,  however,  is  not  without  disad- 
vantage, leaving  the  city  open  and  exposed  to  the 
sweeping  violence  of  the  winds,  that  come  laden 
with  the  piercing  humors  of  the  salt  sea.  On  this 
account,  notwithstanding  all  that  has  been  said  of 
the  salubrity  of  its  air  and  climate,  I  should  think 
that  Montpellier  could  not  be  other  than  an  un- 


204  MONTPKLLIKIt 

favorable  residence  for  persons  suflTerinj^  under  pul- 
monic coin|)laints.  For  restoring,  liowcver,  to  the 
original  Jieallliy  tone  a  nervous  system,  relaxed  by 
sickness  or  sedentary  pursuits,  its  bracing  air  is 
undouljtedly  liiglily  favorable.  The  population  of 
the  city  is  estimated  at  between  thirty  and  forty 
thousand.  A  few  of  the  streets  are  wide  and  ele- 
gant;  but  generally,  as  in  tin;  greater  mmiber  of 
old  French  towns,  the  thoroughfares  are  narrow 
and  incommodious,  and  the  houses  thrown  uj)  with 
but  little  regard  to  taste  or  elegance. 

There  are  several  pleasant  promenades  ;  one  I 
remember  quite  delightful.  It  is  a  constructed  es- 
planade, u})on  the  sunnnit  of  the  city's  extremest 
elevation.  About  this  beautiful  promenade  are 
disposed  benches  for  the  convenience  of  visiters. 
In  the  centre  of  the  area  rises  a  Grecian  temple, 
whose  roof  protects  from  the  rays  of  an  ardent 
sun,  the  sparkling  waters  of  a  fountain,  for  which 
the  building  may  be  considered  a  reservoir.  With- 
out the  w\'ills  of  this  temple,  pour  from  frequent 
mouths,  with  murmuring  fall,  those  limpid  waters. 
The  effect  of  the  w  hole  is  light  and  beautiful  in 
the  extreme. 

From  this  delightful  promenade,  a  fine  and  most 
extensive  view  is  enjoyed.  The  city  of  Montpel- 
lier  lies  at  your  feet.  Passing  that,  the  eye  ranges 
over  the  long  sweep  of  adjacent  country,  and  rests 
on  the  waters  of  the  deep  blue  sea,  as  they  kiss 
the  distant  horizon.  Immediately  below",  and  con- 
tiguous to  the  esplanade  upon  which  you  are  stand- 
ing, commences  its  protracted  length,  and  stretches 


THE  MEDICAL  SCHOOL.  205 

far  in  the  distance,  with  continuous  arch,  a  pile, 
which  might  once  have  been  a  Roman  aqueduct. 
This  ruin  is  interesting  from  its  great  extent,  and 
more  particularly  so,  as  a  vestige  of  those  remote 
ages,  when  the  Roman  Eagle  fastened  his  claws 
upon  the  heart  of  conquered  Gaul. 

Of  a  clear  day,  from  the  elevation  of  which  I 
am  speaking,  may  be  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  Pyr- 
enees' distant  peaks  on  the  one  hand,  and  on  the 
other  can  be  discerned,  well  nigh  melted  to  mist, 
in  the  distance,  your  lofty  summits.  Eternal  Alps. 

Montpellier  has  long  been  noted  for  the  excel- 
lence ol  its  Ecole  de  Medecine,  and  for  the  num- 
ber and  wisdom  of  the  faculty  there  assembled. 
Probably  no  city  in  France,  with  the  exception  of 
Paris,  offers  so  many  advantages  to  the  student  of 
medicine.  The  Anatomical  Theatre  is  on  a  re- 
markably extensive  scale,  and  is  said  to  be  capable 
of  accommodating  two  tliousand  spectators.  There 
is  also  in  this  city  a  well-endowed  public  library, 
containing  between  thirty  and  forty  thousand  vol- 
umes. 

While  at  Montpellier,  the  traveller  who  is  fa- 
miliar with  the  subject  of  Young's  immortal  poem, 
will  not  omit  to  visit  the  spot,  where  the  bereaved 
father,  by  stealth,  at  night,  consigned  to  their  orig- 
inal dust  the  remains  of  his  much  loved  child. 

"  What  could  I  do  ?  What  succour  ?  what  resource  ? 
W^ith  pious  sacrilege  a  grave  I  stole, 
With  impious  piety  that  grave  I  wronged. 
Short  in  my  duty,  coward  in  my  grief. 
More  like  her  murderer  than  friend,  I  crept 
With  soft,  suspended  step ;  and,  muffled  deep 


206  MoNTrKiJ.iiJi. 

In  iiiiiliiiglit  ilurkui's-i,  wliis|i('ri'il  my  Ijixl  '"if-'''- 

I   whispered  wliul  Kiiould  echo  throufrh  xhr'ir  reahnu, 

Nnr  writ  her  nuriie  whow  tomb  hhoiiM  jiien-e  the  bkies. 

I'resiiiiiptiiuiiH  fpiir !     How  iliii>t  1  <lreji(l   her  foes, 

While  IS'atiire'H  loudest  dietutes  I  olM-yed  ? 

J'anliiM  necessity,  hlesl  shade!     Of  grief 

And  indiffimtiun  rival  hiirtita  I  ])ourcd  ; 

Iliilf  e\ecnilion  minified  witli  my  yirayer, 

Kindled  at   man,  while   I   his  God  adored; 

^?ore  ^Minl;:ed  the  sa\ap-  laml   her  sacred  dust, 

Htam|M'<l  the  curs«'d  soil,  and   with  hiunanity 

(Denied  Narciswi)  wished  them  all  a  grave." 

It  was  Saturday  wlicii  \\v  arrived  at  Montpol- 
lier,  and  early  the  ensiling  day  uc  repaired  to  the 
garden,  within  whose  j)recincts  yet  repose  tlie  re- 
mains of  Narcissa.  Arrived  at  the  {jate,  we  were 
denied  admittance  1)\  ihc  old  gardener,  u\h)\\  the 
plea  that  no  visiters  were  allowed  to  ramble  in 
the  gardens  of  a  Sunday.  \\c  told  him  our  reli- 
gious errand,  and  that  wt;  were  travellers  expecting 
to  leave  that  evenini;  or  f-arly  the  coming  morn  ; 
in  fine,  we  poured  upon  him  as  moving  a  torrent 
of  French  entreaty  as  was  at  our  command,  to  no 
purpose  ;  he  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  all  entreaties  ; 
he  refused  our  money,  and  at  last  we  were  fain 
to  give  up  the  point  in  despair.  Of  a  surety,  me- 
thought,  there  seems  somewhat  of  that  bigoted  ob- 
stinacy, which  locked  up  the  breasts  of  the  people 
of  Montpellier  in  the  days  of  Dr.  Young,  still 
visible  in  their  descendants. 

Early  the  next  day  we  once  more  sought  the 
gardens.  The  old  janitor  admitted  us,  and  we 
wandered  awhile  about  the  extensive  grounds, 
without  discovering  the  object  of  our  search.  At 
length,  in  a  sequestered  niche,  where  the  superin- 


THE   GRAVE  OF   NARCISSA.  207 

cumbent  mound  of  earth  was  prevented  from  fall- 
ing in  by  a  rude  support  of  brick,  I  descried  a 
tablet  of  greyish  stone,  upon  which  were  carved 
these  few  and  simple  words : 

"  Placandis  Narcissae  Manibus." 

Here  then  was  the  spot,  where,  in  the  bitter  agony 
of  grief,  the  poet,  perchance,  first  conceived  the 
idea  of  embalming  that  deep  sorrow  in  undying 
verse. 

I  felt  a  painful  thrill  creeping  over  me  as  I 
gazed  upon  the  spot ;  a  crowd  of  associations  pre- 
sented themselves  to  my  mind's  eye ;  an  aged, 
disconsolate  father,  alone  and  at  midnight  in  the 
land  of  the  stranger  and  the  foe,  committing  to 
the  cold  grave  the  last  hope  of  his  declining  years, 
an  only  daughter ;  and  how  was  this  last  sad  of- 
fice rendered,  and  dust  yielded  again  to  dust  ? 
Alas !  there  was  no  funeral  retinue  ;  there  were 
no  weeping  mourners ;  friends  there  were  not,  to 
sympathize  and  console.  No ;  the  few,  sacred 
moments,  that  were  employed  in  veiling  for  ever 
from  the  gaze  of  that  bereaved  parent  the  inani- 
mate form  of  her  he  had  so  loved,  were  rendered 
yet  more  replete  with  anguish,  from  the  fear,  that, 
with  sacrilegious  step,  some  stern  intruder  might 
frustrate  the  holy  enterprise,  and  forbid  (what  ag- 
ony in  the  thought !)  the  rites  of  decent  sepulture. 

Upon  leaving  Montpellier,  our  route  conducted 
us  to  Cette,  six  or  seven  miles  distant  from  that 
city,  of  which  it  may  be  considered  the  port. 
Cette  is  a  town  of  considerable  importance,  pos- 
sessing an  extensive  foreign   trade.    It  is  situated 


208  THE  CANAL  DE  LANGUEDOC. 

on  the  Mediterranean,  or  rather  between  Lake 
Thau  and  the  Mediterranean,  having  a  free  com- 
munication with  that  sea.  The  town  possesses  a 
safe  and  commodious  harbour,  commanded  by  the 
guns  of  two  strong  fortresses. 

Our  stay  here  was  protracted  no  longer  than 
was  necessary,  and  we  took  passage,  as  soon  as 
opportunity  offered,  on  board  the  steam-boat  that 
traverses  Lake  Thau,  thus  completing  the  long 
line  of  inland  navigation  between  Bordeaux  and 
the  Mediterranean. 

Upon  arriving  at  the  point  where  the  waters  of 
the  canal  form  a  junction  with  those  of  the  Lake, 
we  quitted  the  steam-boat,  and  embarked  on  board 
one  of  the  fine  packets  that  ply  along  this  su- 
perb canal.  The  Canal  du  Midi  or  Languedoc, 
as  it  is  indiscriminately  termed,  is  a  work  which 
would  reflect  honor  upon  any  nation  or  govern- 
ment. It  extends  about  one  hundred  and  fifty 
miles,  connecting  the  waters  of  the  Garonne  with 
those  of  the  Mediterranean.  At  the  surface  it  is 
sixty-four  feet  in  width  ;  the  canal  is  provided 
with  one  hundred  and  fourteen  locks,  it  is  spanned 
by  nearly  a  hundred  road  bridges,  and  more  than 
fifty  aqueduct  ones.  The  boats  that  float  on  its 
bosom  are  eighty-five  feet  in  length,  by  eighteen 
in  breadth,  drawing  five  feet  of  water,  and  of  one 
hundred  tons'  burden.  The  canal  traverses,  through- 
out their  whole  extent,  the  smiling  domains  of 
Languedoc,  that  fairest  portion  of  la  belle  France. 
The  cultivated  sweep  of  wide-spread  champaign, 
is  redolent  of   tlie  sweets   beneficent   Nature  has 


MODE  OF  TRAVELLING  UPON  THE  CANAL.        209 

showered  upon  her  favored  clime;  the  waving  grain 
and  joyous  vine  bespeak,  too,  the  honest  industry 
of  man ;  and  the  swelling  heart  of  the  spectator, 
bathed  in  soft  emotions,  sympathizes  with  the  tran- 
quillizing beauty  of  the  scene. 

Nor  are  there  wanting  along  the  route  instances 
of  romantic  beauty  and  grandeur  of  scenery.     At 
Bezieres,   the  canal  passes  through  the  base  of  a 
mountain,   by  a  tunnel  seven  hundred  and  twenty 
feet  in  length,  and  lined  throughout  with  freestone. 
To   me  there  was  a  something  of  novel,  and  even 
sublime,  in  this  dark,    silent,    subterraneous  mode 
of  voyaging  through  the  bowels  of  the  solid  earth. 
The  preparations  for  night  on  board  these  canal 
boats  are  not  the   same  as  with  us.    No  luxury  of 
bedding  is  there  displayed  ;    each  voyageitr  is  pro- 
vided with  a  cushioned  seat,  from  either    side  of 
which  protrudes  an  arm,  after  the  similitude  of  a 
stalle  cVorchestre  in  a  French    theatre,  and    corre- 
sponding, to  all  intents  and  purposes,  with  that  fre- 
quent   and    most   comfortable   piece    of   household 
furniture,    the    arm-chair.      Here    the    traveller   is 
obliged    to   content  himself  by  wearing  away  the 
night  as  he  best  may. 

The  rate  of  travelling  upon  the  canal  rather  ex- 
ceeds four  miles  per  hour,  giving  a  period  of  about 
thirty-six  hours  for  accomplishing  the  traverse  be- 
tween Cette  and  Toulouse.  At  the  expiration  of 
this  time  we  duly  effected  a  landing  at  the  Bureau 
des  Paquebots,  in  the  city  of  Toulouse. 

There  is   but  little  in   this  city  to  protract  the 
traveller's  stay.     Immediately  upon  our  arrival,  we 
27 


210  TOULOUSE. 

secured  the  services  of  a  valet  de  place,  and  under  - 
his  auspices  commenced  a  survey  of  the  place. 

Toulouse  stands  on  the  right  bank  of  the  Ga- 
ronne, which  is  here  broad  and  navigable.  A  noble 
bridge,  nearly  nine  hundred  feet  in  length  and  sev- 
enty in  breadth,  is  reared  above  its  rapid  waters. 
Not  far  from  the  bridge,  and  hard  by  the  banks  of 
the  river,  is  a  lofty  tower,  erected  for  the  purpose 
of  distributing  the  waters  of  the  Garonne  through 
the  city.  The  process  by  which  this  object  is 
accomplished  is  novel  and  ingenious,  but  rather 
too  complicated  in  its  nature  to  admit  of  a  satis- 
factory explanation  from  one  unlearned  in  the  sci- 
ence of  Hydraulics. 

The  other  public  objects,  that  will  repay  the 
stranger  for  the  visiting,  are  the  Town  House,  a 
handsome  edifice,  possessing  a  beautifully  orna- 
mented facade ;  the  Cathedral,  venerable  from  its 
remote  antiquity ;  and  a  few  of  the  other  churches, 
whose  names  have  escaped  my  memory. 

Toulouse  possesses  also  its  quota  of  antiquities ; 
the  remains  of  a  Roman  Amphitheatre  and  Aqueduct 
are  there  yet  visible.  In  a  spacious  quadrangular 
area,  serving  as  a  depository  for  valuable  antiques, 
the  visiter  is  shown  many  ancient  Roman  statues. 
These,  though  for  the  most  part  in  an  imperfect 
and  mutilated  state,  display  nevertheless  much  of 
that  harmony  of  outline  and  symmetrical  beauty 
of  proportion,  that  attest  the  perfection  of  the  art 
during  the  palmy  days  of  Imperial  Rome. 

In  the  eye  of  the  historical  reader,  Toulouse  will 
ever  possess   an   interest   from  the  siege  and  the 


JOURNEY   TO  BORDEAUX.  21  J 

battle  of  which  it  was  the  theatre  during  the  san- 
guinary period  of  the  Peninsular  campaigns.  Traces 
of  that  severe  conflict  around  the  walls  of  the  de- 
voted city  are  jet  visible. 

With  respect  to  the  places  of  amusement  in 
this  city,  the  theatre  appeared  to  me  the  only  one 
worthy  of  particular  notice.  It  is  a  handsome, 
well-arranged  salle,  and  capable  of  containing  a 
large  concourse  of  spectators.  As  is  ever  the  case 
in  the  considerable  towns  of  France,  it  is  provided 
with  an  efficient  corps,  either  for  opera,  vaudeville, 
or  the  higher  walks  of  the  drama.  I  repaired 
thither  in  company  with  my  friend,  on  the  evening 
of  our  arrival.  The  piece  was  Auber's  chef-cPceu- 
vre,  "  Fra  Diavolo,"  and  I  was  much  gratified  by  its 
excellent  representation.  The  charming  music  of 
the  opera  was  given  with  inspiring  effect. 

Being  desirous  of  reaching  Bordeaux  with  all 
practicable  speed,  we  made  but  brief  stay  at  Tou- 
louse. Less  than  two  days  had  flown  by,  when 
we  were  again  rolling  over  the  dusty  roads.  The 
distance  between  Toulouse  and  Bordeaux  is  about 
one  hundred  and  sixty  miles ;  the  diligence  trav- 
els it  at  the  rate  of  four  miles  and  a  half  per  hour, 
and  completes  the  journey  in  about  thirty-six 
hours  ;  there  is  nothing  particularly  interesting  upon 
the  route.  After  tumbling  about  in  the  coach  for 
two  nights  and  a  day,  we  joyfully  hailed  the  first 
vision  of  Bordeaux.  Arrived,  we  secured  lodgings 
at  the  Hotel  du  Nord,  an  establishment  where  are 
happily  consulted  the  comfort  and  convenience  of 
the  traveller. 


212  BORDEAUX. 

Bordeaux  is  the  fourth  city  in  the  kingdom  in 
magnitude  and  importance,  and,  excluding  the  cap- 
ital, more  conspicuous  than  any  other  by  the  splen- 
dor of  its  public  and  private  edifices.  It  is  situated 
about  forty  miles  from  the  sea  on  the  west  bank 
of  the  Garonne ;  its  harbour  is  large  and  commo- 
dious, and,  from  the  circumstance  of  the  Garonne's 
being  very  materially  affected  by  the  tides  as  far 
up  as  the  city,  it  is  accessible  to  vessels  of  consid- 
erable  burden. 

Bordeaux,  as  surveyed  from  the  eastern  bank  of 
the  river,  presents  the  appearance  of  a  semicircle? 
stretching  far  along  the  curving  banks  of  the  stream. 
To  judge  from  the  appearance  it  there  presents, 
you  would  suppose  the  city  double  its  actual  size ; 
but,  upon  entering  the  town,  you  find  it  deficient 
in  width.  The  entire  population  is  not  supposed  to 
exceed  one  hundred  thousand.  The  old  town  is  a 
succession  of  narrow  streets  and  miserable  hovels, 
but  the  better  and  larger  portion  of  the  city  is 
adorned  with  spacious  avenues,  and  lofty,  elegant 
edifices. 

Among  the  finer  parts  of  the  city  must  be  men- 
tioned the  Place  Royale,  where  stands  a  handsome 
equestrian  statue  of  the  fifteenth  Louis.  The 
Quartier  du  Chapeau  Rouge,  however,  is  decidedly 
the  most  beautiful  section  of  Bordeaux.  The  edi- 
fices here  are  built,  for  the  most  part,  in  a  style 
of  princely  grandeur.  In  this  quartier  stands  also 
the  magnificent  theatre,  more  imposing,  in  its  ex- 
ternal appearance  than  any  building  erected  for 
similar  purposes  in  the   realm,  Paris  not  excepted. 


THE  THEATRE.  213 

This  noble  structure  stands  isolated  in  the  centre 
of  a  square,  a  situation  which  displays  its  propor- 
tions to  the  greatest  advantage.  It  occupies  a 
space  of  three  hundred  and  six  feet  in  length,  by 
one  hundred  and  sixty-five  in  breadth.  The  prin- 
cipal front  faces  you,  as  you  pass  along  the  Quartier 
du  Chapeau  Rouge  towards  the  river.  This  front 
is  adorned  with  a  classic  portico  of  large  Corin- 
thian columns,  stretching  along  its  whole  extent. 
Passing  these,  the  vestibule  first  attracts  the  at- 
tention, and  from  that  you  enter  the  body  of  the 
house.  The  salle  is  not  so  spacious  as  one  would 
imagine  from  the  appearance  without.  It  is  ar- 
ranged, however,  in  a  style  of  taste  and  elegance 
I  have  never  seen  surpassed  ;  indeed,  the  theatre 
may  be  denominated  a  perfect  hijou.  The  per- 
formances, upon  the  first  evening  1  visited  it, 
were  Mayerbeer's  untiring  opera  of  Robert  le 
Diable,  with  the  beautiful  ballet  of  La  Somnam- 
hule.  The  music  and  dancing  throughout  were 
executed  in  a  manner  that  seemed  to  me  in  perfect 
consonance  with  the  airy  beauty  of  this  Temple 
of  the  Muses,  and  with  the  acknowledged  good 
taste  of  the  city  that  erected  it.  Besides  the 
salle  de  spectacles,  within  the  walls  of  the  theatre 
are  contained  an  extensive  and  elegant  concert- 
room,  and  several  saloons  for  refreshment  and  the 
promenade.  It  is  estimated,  that  the  entire  ex- 
pense attending  the  building  of  this  splendid 
edifice  exceeded  the  enormous  sum  of  six  million 
five  hundred  thousand  francs. 

There  are  also  in  Bordeaux  many  other  public 


214  BORDEAUX. 

works,  which,  by  their  magnificence,  tend  to  show 
the  generous  spirit  of  the  people  on  all  subjects 
connected  with  the  general  improvement  and  beaU' 
ty  of  the  city. 

The  new  Corn  Mill,  which  is  put  in  operation 
by  the  influx  and  ebb  of  the  tides,  is  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  features  of  the  city.  It  is  pro- 
vided with  several  canals ;  through  the  largest, 
which  is  constructed  in  the  most  durable  manner, 
the  water  flows  in,  and  puts  the  wheels  of  the  mill 
in  motion.  It  thence  passes  through  the  remaining 
conduits  to  a  large  reservoir  from  whence,  upon  the 
tide's  ebb,  it  returns,  and  thus,  by  an  ingenious 
contrivance,  aids  the  necessities  of  man  both  in  its 
rise  and  flow. 

Bordeaux  possesses  a  Cathedral  and  many  ven- 
erable churches.  In  one  of  these,  the  church  of 
the  monks  of  St.  Bernard,  is  the  tomb  of  the 
celebrated  Philosopher  and  Wit, — Montaigne. 

The  Aristocracy  of  the  city  is  chiefly  composed 
of  its  rich  merchants  and  bankers,  who  display,  in 
their  habitations  and  mode  of  living,  a  luxury  and 
elegance  befitting  their  wealth  and  station. 

The  greatest  source  of  wealth  to  the  inhabitants 
springs  from  the  culture  of  the  grape.  The  quan- 
tity of  wine  yearly  produced  in  the  campagne  about 
Bordeaux  is  said  to  be  two  hundred  thousand  tuns, 
of  which  the  moiety  may  be  exported,  and  the  resi- 
due consumed  in  the  kingdom.  When  we  consider 
the  cheapness  which  attends  the  manufacture  of  the 
wine  upon  the  spot,  and  the  large  sums  demanded 
in  the  selling,  we  shall  cease   to   wonder   at   the 


BORDEAUX  COMPARED  WITH  MARSEILLES.       215 

immense  fortunes  so  rapidly  accumulated  by  the 
principal  merchants  of  Bordeaux. 

In  drawing  a  comparison  between  this  city  and 
another,  not  differing  from  it  materially  in  extent 
or  population,  —  Marseilles,  are  struck  with  certain 
very  marked  dissimilarities.  The  easy  freedom 
characteristic  of  the  Marseillais,  seems  foreign 
to  the  more  patrician  habitant  of  Bordeaux.  Sel- 
dom does  the  visiter  in  the  latter  city  either  in 
cafe  or  theatre  encounter  instances  of  the  bruyante 
and  noisy  gayety  that  prevails  in  the  similar  resorts 
at  Marseilles.  Bordeaux  has  not  forgotten,  that  she 
was  once  the  home  of  a  splendid  court,  and  the 
dignity  of  a  capital  still  clings  around  her.  In  fine, 
as  respects  the  two  cities,  there  may  be  a  difference, 
similar  to  that  perceptible  between  the  arrogance 
of  the  rich  parvenu,  who  exults  in  the  new-fangled 
honors  his  gold  has  procured  him,  and  the  dignified 
bearing  of  the  hereditary  noble,  upon  whose  front 
birth  and  education  have  set  the  seal  of  greatness. 

The  distance  from  Bordeaux  to  Paris  is  nearly  four 
hundred  miles,  in  a  northeasterlv  direction.  In 
passing  over  this  long  interval  by  diligence,  you  sub- 
ject yourself  to  four  or  five  tedious  days  upon  the 
route.  The  better  way  is  to  travel  it  in  the  Malle 
Poste.  By  this  conveyance,  you  annihilate  the  dis- 
tance in  about  forty-two  hours.  The  French  Malle 
Poste  moves  with  a  velocity  more  than  double  that 
marking  the  average  speed  of  continental  travelling. 
The  traveller  who  books  himself  for  this  rapid  vehi- 
cle, must  take  good  heed  to  be  ever  ready  at  his  post. 
There  is  not  a  moment's  unnecessary  delay  on  the 


216  TRAVELLING  BY  THE  MALLE  POSTE. 

route  ;  but  little  time,  and  that  at  long  intervals, 
is  allowed  for  refreshing.  At  each  relay,  the  pro- 
cess of  changing  is  most  expeditious.  The  fatigued 
and  panting  animals,  that  have  whirled  you  over 
the  course  with  such  rapidity,  are  led  off,  and  in  a 
moment  fresh  ones  are  substituted  in  their  places, 
attached  to  the  vehicle,  and  you  are  again  en  route. 
Onward  you  roll  night  and  day  unceasingly,  until 
the  journey's  end  is  attained. 

I  confess  myself  partial  to  this  mode  of  journey- 
ing, even  though  it  afford  the  tourist  but  small 
opportunity  for  analyzing  the  objects  of  interest 
that  may  chance  on  his  path.  To  me,  travelling 
is  never  pleasant  for  travelling's  sake,  but  endur- 
able as  a  means  by  which  a  desirable  end  can 
alone  be  attained.  As  a  natural  corollary,  there- 
fore, the  swifter  the  better; — yet  is  there  an  in- 
finitely more  pleasing  excitement  in  glancing  over 
the  smooth,  well-beaten  road,  resounding  under  the 
clattering  hoof  of  the  spirited  steed  than,  despite 
its  superior  velocity,  in  rumbling  along  dull  rails 
of  metal,  urged  by  the  expansive  power  of  hissing 
steam. 

The  traveller  on  the  route  from  Bordeaux  to 
Paris  will  have  occasion  to  pass  through  several 
important  towns,  around  which  cling  the  strong 
associations  of  historical  interest.  At  Poictiers  the 
Poste  allows  you  a  moment's  breathing-time  to 
look  about  you  or  refresh.  Here  is  the  spot  so 
marked  in  the  annals  of  England's  military  renown. 
It  was  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  this  city,  about 
the  middle  of  the  fourteenth    century,   that    King 


TOURS.  217 

John  of  France,  with  four  times  the  numerical 
force,  yielded  to  the  victorious  arms  of  the  heroic 
Black  Prince.  The  town  of  Poictiers  is  irregularly 
built,  and  threaded  by  narrow,  crooked  streets. 
Apart  from  historical  associations,  it  can  present  but 
little  to  interest.  Its  population  is  said  to  exceed 
twenty  thousand  souls. 

Tours,  capital  of  the  department  of  the  Indre  and 
Loire,  is  a  handsome  and  populous  town.  It  is 
situated  on  the  banks  of  the  Loire,  a  little  above 
the  point  where  this  noble  stream  receives  the 
tributary  waters  of  the  Cher.  The  principal  street 
in  Tours  is  the  Rue  Royale,  extending  the  entire 
length  of  the  city,  and  displaying  on  either  side 
a  uniform  series  of  lofty  and  elegant  edifices.  A 
magnificent  bridge  over  the  Loire,  continues  the 
long  line  of  this  splendid  avenue.  The  bridge  is 
a  superb  structure  more  than  thirteen  hundred  feet 
in  length  by  fifty  in  breadth.  It  spans  the  rapid 
stream  with  fourteen  wide  and  beautiful  arches. 
Not  far  from  this  bridge  commences  the  great  prom- 
enade, which  is  more  than  a  mile  in  extent.  In 
addition  to  what  has  been  already  mentioned.  Tours 
can  boast  a  fine  Cathedral,  built  in  the  Gothic  style 
of  architecture,  an  Hotel  de  Ville,  a  College,  and  a 
well-furnished  Museum.  The  population  of  the 
city  is  estimated  at  about  twenty-two  thousand. 

Upon  leaving  Tours,  the  route  conducts  along 
the  banks  of  the  broad  and  majestic  Loire.  The 
quay,  that  bounds  its  swelling  waters,  extending 
from  Argennes  to  Tours,  is  one  of  the  grandest 
public  works  in  France.  It  is  raised  to  about 
28 


218  THE  LOIRE. 

twenty-five  feet  above  the  level  of  the  original 
bank,  and  is  of  sufficient  width  to  receive  three 
carriages  abreast.  Before  the  construction  of  this 
extensive  barrier,  the  country  was  exposed  to  inun- 
dations over  a  great  extent  of  territory. 

The  Loire  is  the  largest  of  the  rivers  of  France, 
properly  so  called.  It  has  been  happily  termed  the 
Euphrates  of  that  kingdom.  This  rapid  and  iiohle 
stream  describes  a  course  of  more  than  five  hundred 
miles  from  its  source  in  the  mountains  of  Cevennes 
to  its  embouchure,  where  the  Atlantic  receives  its 
auxiliary  waters  below  the  city  of  Nantes,  in  Bre- 
tagne.  The  river  is  generally  broad  and  rapid, 
and  in  parts  so  shallow,  as  to  render  it  extremely 
difficult  of  navigation. 

The  route  by  its  bank,  as  I  have  before  said,  is 
truly  delightful.  The  pleased  eye  wanders  from 
the  broad  bosom  of  the  glancing  stream  to  the 
verdure  and  fertility  beyond,  that  spring  from  its 
genial  waves.  Nature,  in  happy  mood,  smiles  in 
the  wide  landscape,  and  even  the  gorgeous  Sun 
seems  to  linger  over  the  fair  scene  as  he  slowly 
sinks  to  his  western  repose,  bathing  a  world  in  the 
last  transient  yet  glorious  flood  of  splendor. 

Travelling  onward  we  come  to  the  city  of  Blois, 
famous  for  having  once  been  a  residence  of  the 
kings  of  France.  This  city  possesses  an  ancient 
castle  and  other  public  buildings  of  note.  It  is 
situated  about  ninety  miles  from  the  capital,  and 
contains  a  population  of  thirteen  thousand  inhabit- 
ants. The  French  language  is  said  to  be  spoken 
here,  and  likewise  at  Tours,  with  peculiar  purity 
and  correctness. 


ARRIVAL  AT  PARIS.  219 

About  fifty  miles  from  Blois,  favorably  situated 
on  the  Loire,  stands  the  populous  city  of  Orleans. 
History  has  early  invested  this  place  with  impor- 
tance. In  the  wars  of  the  Middle  Ages  between 
England  and  France,  Orleans  played  a  conspicuous 
part.  It  was  then  that  the  dauntless  Pucelle, 
inspired  with  patriotic  frenzy,  put  herself  at  the 
head  of  her  nation's  armies,  and,  by  her  daring 
valor,  heightened  by  the  superstition  of  the  times, 
struck  terror  into  the  assailants.  There  is  yet 
standing,  in  one  of  the  squares,  a  statue  of  bronzy 
erected  to  her  memory.  Orleans  has  likewise  the 
honor  of  giving  its  name  to  the  eldest  son  of  France 
and  heir-apparent  to  the  throne. 

The  ready  steeds  are  again  on  the  route,  and  at 
length  the  eye  is  gladdened  by  a  yet  distant  view 
of  that  splendid  Capital,  whose  innumerable  com- 
forts and  facilities  a  temporary  absence  has  prepar- 
ed the  traveller  fully  to  appreciate.  Time  flies  ; 
you  pass  the  massive  barrier,  and  thunder  with 
rapid  pace  along  the  mazy  streets.  Arrived  at  the 
Bureau  des  Postes,  you  alight  and  stand  once  again 
in  the  heart  of  Paris. 

As  soon  as  myself  and  travelling  gear  were  fairly 
clear  of  the  vehicle,  I  lost  no  time  in  transporting 
them,  with  all  convenient  speed,  to  my  old  comfort- 
able quarters  at  the  Hotel  dcs  Princes^  in  the  Rue 
Richelieu,  and  soon  all  remembrance  of  travel  and 
fatigue  was  dispelled  by  the  balmy  breath  of  sleep. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

Paris.  —  Noti-e  Dame.  —  Churches.  —  The  Pantheon.  —  Vault  and 
Tombs.  —  Tomb  of  Lannes.  —  Echo.  —  View  from  the  Pantheon.  — 
Its  Dome  and  Painthig  in  Fresco.  —  Palaces.  —  The  Tuileries.  — 
Gai'den  of  the  Tuileries.  —  Splendid  View.  —  Palais  Bourbon.  — 
The  Louvre.  —  Gallery  of  Pamtings.  —  Modern  French  Artists. — 
Remarks  on  Painting. 

In  the  remarks  I  have  to  offer  respecting  this 
celebrated  city,  a  cursory  notice  of  the  public 
buildings,  distinguished  whether  for  their  elegance 
or  antiquity,  must  first  be  permitted  me  ;  and  we 
will  commence  with  the  churches. 

Of  these,  the  most  ancient  and  remarkable  one  is 
the  well-known  Cathedral  of  Notre  Dame.  This 
massive  pile  dates  from  remote  antiquity,  —  more 
than  eight  centuries  have  rolled  over  its  venerable 
walls.  As  a  specimen  of  Gothic  architecture  it 
may  be  looked  upon  as  unrivalled  by  any  in  the 
kingdom.  The  front  of  the  church,  which  is  one 
hundred  and  twenty  feet  in  width,  is  remarkable, 
alike  for  the  noble  and  imposing  character  of  its 
masonry  and  proportions,  as  well  as  the  elaborate 
carving  and  richness  of  ornament,  which  serve  to 
relieve  that  stern  and  stately  majesty,  which  is  its 
most  prominent  characteristic. 

The  towers  of  Notre  Dame  are  forty  feet  square 
and  more  than  two  hundred  in  height ;  from  their 
summit  is  commanded  a  splendid  view  of  Paris  and 
the   surrounding    country.     A    staircase    of  nearly 


CATHEDRAL  OF  NOTRE  DAME.         221 

four  hundred  steps  conducts  you  to  the  top.  These 
elevated  towers,  rising  in  the  very  heart  of  the  city, 
and  opening  to  the  eye  on  every  side  a  beautiful 
and  extended  prospect,  were  formerly  thronged 
with  visiters ;  but  the  fact  of  an  individual's  having 
some  years  since  committed  suicide  by  precipitating, 
himself  from  the  dizzy  height,  has  induced  the 
authorities  to  permit  no  party,  consisting  of  more 
than  three  or  four,  to  ascend  at  the  same  time. 

Of  the  numerous  bells,  that  once  rang  their 
loud  peals  through  the  towers  of  Notre  Dame,  but 
one  remains,  which  was  placed  in  the  situation  it 
now  occupies  during  the  reign  of  Louis  Quatorze, 
towards  the  close  of  the  seventeenth  century.  It 
bears  the  name  of  Emanuel  Louise  Therese.  This 
huge  bell  is  eight  feet  in  height  by  the  same  num- 
ber in  diameter,  and  is  said  to  weigh  ninety-six 
thousand  pounds.  Its  thickness  is  eight  inches, 
and  the  strength  of  sixteen  men  is  barely  adequate 
to  ring  it. 

View  ed  from  without,  the  general  appearance  of 
Notre  Dame  is  in  the  highest  degree  striking  and 
impressive.  The  colossal  and  towering  proportions 
of  the  edifice,  heightened  in  effect  by  its  massive  and 
frowning  architecture,  impress  the  beholder  with 
an  involuntary  feeling  of  awe.  The  interior  of  the 
church  is  in  the  form  of  a  Latin  cross.  Through- 
out its  whole  wide  extent  there  reigns  a  simple 
and  unadorned  grandeur,  well  in  unison  with 
the  sacred  nature  of  the  edifice.  Its  dimensions, 
within  the  walls,  are  about  four  hundred  feet  in 
length  by  one   hundred  and  forty  in  breadth,  and 


222  PARIS. 

one  hundred  in  lieif^ht.  Extending  tlie  entire 
.  length  of  the  fahiic,  is  a  succession  of  Gothic 
arches,  supported  by  numerous  phiin  and  fluted 
cohimns,  so  disposed,  that,  on  entering  at  the 
west  door  of  the  church,  the  visiter  may  obtain  an 
entire  and  unobstructed  view  of  the  whole. 

The  situation  of  Notre  Dame  is  not,  perhaps, 
such  as  the  modern  tourist  might  deem  most  favor- 
able for  the  display  of  its  majestic  and  stately  pro- 
portions; yet,  in  the  eye  of  one,  who  would  wish 
to  feel  in  their  full  force  those  impressions  which 
so  vast  an  edifice  cannot  fail  to  create,  even  the 
locale  is  not  without  its  advantages.  The  time- 
scathed  and  blackened  edifices  in  its  immediate 
vicinity,  the  traces  of  age  everywhere  visible,  seem 
to  harmonize  happily  with  the  almost  traditional 
antiquity  of  a  pile,  around  which  are  woven  the 
sacred  associations  of  centuries. 

The  quartier  yv\\exe  this  famed  cathedral  rears  its 
lofty  towers  is  the  most  ancient  section  of  Paris,  and 
the  nucleus^  around  which,  in  process  of  years,  the 
immense  substance  of  the  modern  capital  has  collect- 
ed. At  present,  this  quarter  of  the  city  (the  old 
Lutetia  of  the  Romans)  bears  the  name  of  "  Cite." 
It  is  an  island,  formed  by  the  branches  of  the 
Seine,  and  of  but  comparatively  small  extent. 

Among  the  orher  ancient  places  of  public  wor- 
ship in  Paris,  stand  conspicuous  the  ciiurches  of  St. 
Sulpice,  St.  Eustache,  and  St.  Roch.  The  first 
of  these  claims  the  preeminence,  as  well  from  its 
great  size  and  majestic  proportions,  as  the  interior 
designs  and  valuable  paintings  that  adorn  it. 


THE  PANTHEON.  223 

From  the  ancient  tglise,  turn  we  to  the  more 
modern;  and  the  magniticent  Pantheon  first  attracts 
the  eje.  This  noble  church,  commenced  during 
the  reign  of  the  fifteenth  Louis,  was  but  a  i'ew 
jears  since  fully  completed. 

The  portico  is  construct(>d  after  the  manner  of 
that  celebrated  church  at  Rome,  from  which  this 
derives  its  name.  It  consists  of  a  splendid  per- 
istyle of  massive  Corinthian  columns,  fifty-eight 
feet  in  height,  and  more  than  five  in  diameter. 
Upon  the  frieze  of  the  portico  may  be  read  the 
following  inscription,  illustrative  of  the  purpose  to 
which  tiiis  edifice  is  partly  devoted  : 

"  Aux  Grands  Ho.aimes  la  Patrie  Reconnoissante." 

The  interior  of  the  church  is  in  the  form  of  a 
Greek  cross.  About  the  centre  of  the  area,  on 
either  side  of  the  principal  nave,  are  inscriptions  in 
letters  of  gold,  eulogizing  those  brave  citizens  who 
fell  in  the  revolution  of  1830. 

The  church  is  a  model  of  majestic  simplicity, 
and  entirely  free  from  the  gilded  trumpery  that 
usually  disfigures  the  Romish  places  of  worship. 
After  satisfying  your  curiosity  above,  you  descend 
to  the  silent  vault  of  the  building.  Here,  but  a  few 
feet  apart,  are  the  tombs  of  Voltaire  and  Rousseau. 
From  that  of  the  former  protrudes  a  hand  grasping 
a  flaming  torch,  signifying  that  the  spirit  of  the 
great  author  yet  illumes  the  Universe.  Further 
on,  where  the  gloomy  aisle  excludes  the  light  of 
day,  are  deposited  the  remains  of  Napoleon's  fa- 
vorite soldier,   the    intrepid  Lannes.    In  this  part 


224  PARIS 

of  the  church  there  is  a  remarkable  echo.  Elevate 
the  voice  to  a  shout,  and  a  swelling  sea  of  sound 
rebounds  from  the  sharp  and  salient  angles,  and 
rolls  with  long  and  stunning  reverberation  amid  the 
winding  and  labyrinthine  passages. 

Torch  in  hand,  the  guide  conducts  you  along  the 
subterranean  way,  and  explains  the  history  of  all. 
-Upon  emerging  from  these  dark,  damp  chambers, 
the  visiter  will  not  fail  to  ascend  the  lengthened 
stairway  that  conducts  to  the  spacious  dome,  thus 
completing  a  survey  of  the  edifice. 

The  situation  of  the  Pantheon  is  conspicuous 
and  commanding.  It  occupies  the  brow  of  a  rising 
ground,  which  is  surmounted  by  a  long  flight  of 
steps,  conducting  to  the  b  so  of  the  church.  Un- 
defiled  by  the  alloying  contact  of  inferior  piles,  it 
stands  towering  aloft  in  its  isolated  grandeur. 
From  the  top  of  this  edifice,  the  highest  point  in 
the  city  of  Paris,  the  visiter  may  enjoy  a  most 
delightful  prospect.  You  gaze  upon  the  vast  Cap- 
ital, that  lies  in  Titan-like  repose  at  your  feet. 
From  its  broad  bosom  rise  the  dome,  the  turret, 
and  the  spire.  The  wdde  wilderness  of  stone  is 
relieved  at  intervals  by  the  green  and  waving 
foliage  of  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries,  the  Luxem- 
bourg, the  Jardin  des  Plantes  and  Pere  la  Chaise. 
Surmounted  by  his  statue  whose  victories  it  re- 
cords, is  seen  the  stately  shaft  of  bronze  rising 
from  the  midst  of  its  beautiful  square.  But  the 
City,  —  it  is  not  its  material  features  alone, —  its 
stone  or  marble,  upon  which  the  fixed  eye  dilates. 
No;  you  are  gazing  upon  that  theatre,  where  has 


DOME  OF  THE  PANTHEON.  225 

been  played  the  most  wondrous  drama  modern 
Europe  has  beheld.  The  stirring  scenes  of  the 
Revolution,  the  warlike  excitement  of  that  after 
period  when  the  armies  of  France  waved  her 
triumphant  standard  over  fallen  fortress  and  con- 
quered capital,  rise  again  before  you,  and  that,  too, 
—  the  disastrous  flood  of  war,  rolling  back  from  the 
far  regions  of  the  freezing  North,  covering  with 
dark  desolation  the  once  fair  domain  and  smiling 
home,  —  until  its  blood-red  wave,  threatening  to 
efface  each  vestige  of  the  proud  city,  swept  over 
a  dynasty  the  world  had  trembled  at. 

The  principal  beauty  of  the  Pantheon  consists  in 
its  magnificent  dome,  which  is  elevated  nearly 
three  hundred  feet  above  the  floor  of  the  church. 
It  is  surrounded  by  thirty-two  columns,  of  the  Co- 
rinthian order,  which  give  it  the  appearance  of  a 
circular  temple.  Above  these  rises  a  cupola,  which 
is  surmounted  by  a  lantern.  The  whole  is  termi- 
nated by  a  ball  and  cross  of  bronze  gilt. 

The  painting  of  the  dome,  by  Gros,  is  looked 
upon  as  this  artist's  chef-cVoeuvre.  It  is,  indeed,  a 
splendid  composition,  and  covers  a  surface  com-^ 
prising  more  than  three  thousand  square  feet.  The 
subject  of  the  work  is  drawn  both  from  the  celestial 
and  the  terrestrial.  The  latter  consists  of  four 
groups,  connected  by  appropriate  emblems,  repre- 
senting such  monarchs  of  France,  as  have  most 
contributed  to  exert  a  permanent  influence  upon 
the  country.  The  first  is  Clovis,  who,  moved  by 
the  persuasive  eloquence  of  his  queen,  Clotilda, 
early  embraced  the  Christian  faith.  The  next 
29 


226  PARIS. 

group  consists  of  the  gorgeous  Charlemagne  and 
his  Queen.  The  third  is  St.  Louis  and  his 
consort.  The  fourth  group,  the  artist  (in  compli- 
ment to  the  then  reigning  monarch)  has  made  to 
consist  of  Louis  the  Eighteenth,  and  that  royal  lady 
whom  Napoleon  has  styled  the  only  man  among 
the  Bourbons,  the  Duchesse  d'Angouleme.  The 
king  is  represented  as  protecting,  with  his  sceptre, 
the  infant  Duke  of  Bordeaux.  Descending  toward 
them,  partially  veiled  in  circumambient  clouds,  is 
seen  the  Patron  Saint  of  Paris,  St.  Genevieve,  to 
whom  the  royal  personages  composing  the  group  are 
rendering  homage.  Casting  your  eye  above,  you 
behold  enthroned  amid  the  celestial  regions  Louis 
the  Sixteenth,  with  Marie  Antoinette,  his  queen, 
Louis  the  Seventeenth,  his  son,  and  Mad.  Elisabeth. 
The  highest  point  in  the  piece,  conspicuous  by  a 
dazzling  gleam  of  light  emanating  from  it,  indicates 
the  unapproachable  presence  of  the  Deity. 

The  Palaces  must  next  in  order  claim  our  atten- 
tion. Of  these,  we  will  first  glance  at  the  present 
royal  residence,  —  the  Chateau  of  the  Tuileries. 
This  palace,  though  by  no  mean^  the  most  elegant 
in  Paris,  is  yet  a  noble  and  imposing  edifice.  Its 
darkened  walls  and  obsolete  architecture  bear  the 
impress  of  antiquity.  The  Chateau,  with  its  pavil- 
ions, is  about  one  thousand  feet  in  length,  stretch- 
ins  across  the  garden  from  the  Rue  Rivoli  to  the 
Quai. 

The  Garden  of  the  Tuileries,  annexed  to  the 
palace,  is  a  prominent  feature  of  the  metropolis. 
This    large    and    beautiful    area    forms    a    favorite 


GARDEN  OF  THE  TUILERIES.  227 

promenade  for  the  beau  monde  during  the  fine 
season ;  numerous  and  well-l;eaten  paths  traverse 
the  grounds,  along  which  pours  the  tide  of  well- 
dressed  ])edestrians,  while  the  grassy  plots,  decked 
with  flowers,  and  the  waving  foliage  of  the  tall 
trees,  bestow  an  air  of  rural  beauty,  that  delights 
the  eye.  The  frequent  statue  and  the  murmuring 
fount  are  there,  to  enhance  the  beauty  of  the  scene. 

Let  us  commence  near  the  palace,  and,  choosing 
the  middle  path,  slowly  promenade  the  length  of 
the  garden.  Groups  of  statuary  are  profusely 
scattered  over  this  portion  of  the  area.  Passing 
these,  and  the  fountain  ^^  hose  lofty  jet  diffuses 
an  agreeable  freshness  through  the  air,  you  enter 
the  broad  walk,  bounded  on  either  side  by  stately 
trees.  The  absence  of  brush  and  underwood  per- 
mits the  eye  free  range  through  this  fair  extent  of 
grove  ;  at  intervals,  the  rude  seat  offers  the  visiter 
an  immunity  from  the  sun's  meridian  rays,  and  here 
and  there  the  marble  group  embodies  subjects  in 
unison  with  the  sylvan  character  of  the  scene. 
Passing  onward,  you  come  to  an  ample  reservoir, 
where  proudly  sails  the  majestic  swan.  At  length, 
you  emerge  by  the  massive  portal,  on  either  side 
of  which  frowns  a  couchant  lion.  The  Place  de  la 
Revolution,  or  Louis  Seize,  now  extends  before 
you  ;  —  a  few  paces  more,  and  your  steps  are  press- 
ing the  spot,  where  was  poured  forth  the  blood  of  a 
Monarch,  to  appease  the  fell  demon  of  Revolution. 

Here  opens  upon  you  the  most  magnificent  view 
in  Paris,  —  a  view,  I  may  venture  to  affirm,  which 
the  other  capitals  of  Europe  can  display  nothing  to 


228  PARIS. 

equal.  Let  us  examine  it  a  passing  moment  in 
detail.  Turn  your  eyes  upon  the  gardens  you  have 
just  quitted.  There  the  view  is  terminated  by  the 
long  range  of  the  Tuileries.  On  your  right  hand, 
compressed  by  massive  quays,  the  Seine  is  rolling  his 
turbid  wave,  spanned  at  this  point  by  the  noble 
bridge  de  la  Concorde,  the  sides  of  which  are  sur- 
mounted by  colossal  figures,  bearing  the  most  illus- 
trious names  of  France.  Beyond  the  stream  is  seen 
the  Palais  Bourbon,  a  structure  considered  by  many 
as  second  in  beauty  to  none  the  Capital  can  boast. 
The  front  of  this  palace  is  adorned  by  twelve  beau- 
tiful Corinthian  columns.  During  the  reign  of 
Napoleon  it  was  made  use  of  by  his  legislative 
councils,  and  at  present  the  Chamber  of  Deputies 
hold  their  meetings  within  its  walls.  On  the  left 
hand  runs  the  Rue  Rivoli,  with  its  stately  succes- 
sion of  private  and  public  edifices.  At  the  extrem- 
ity of  a  street,  opening  upon  this  avenue  in  direct 
line  with  the  position  you  occupy,  is  seen  the  beau- 
tiful and  classic  front  of  La  Madeleine,  with  the 
pure  and  gleaming  white  of  its  stately  columns. 
Reverse  your  position,  and  the  eye  embraces  the 
wide  domain  of  the  Champs  Elysees,  the  vast 
pleasure-ground  of  Paris,  bisected  by  a  broad, 
straight  avenue,  and  terminated  to  the  vision  by 
the  glorious  effort  of  a  Nation's  power,  worthy  its 
Imperial  designer,  the  triumphal  Arc  de  VEtoile. 

Surveyed  from  a  spot  like  the  one  my  pen  would 
fain  portray,  the  city  of  Paris  appears  to  the  facile 
imagination  clothed  in  that  dazzling  garb  of  gran- 
deur with  which  early  reading  has  invested  mag- 


PALACE   OF   THE   LOUVRE.  229 

nificent,  eternal  Rome,  and  those,  yet  more  dimly 
visible,  through  the  mists  tradition  has  thrown  over 
time, — the  giant  cities  of  the  far-off  Orient. 

The  Palace  of  the  Louvre  is  yet  older  than  that 
of  the  Tuileries  ;  portions  of  the  edifice  are  the 
work  of  centuries  long  past.  But  the  most  beau- 
tiful part  of  that  royal  residence  was  completed  dur- 
ing the  splendid  reign  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  and 
may  be  denominated  a  perfect  model  of  chaste  and 
elegant  architecture.  So  just  and  symmetrical 
throughout  are  the  proportions  of  the  edifice,  that 
the  eye  at  first  glance  is  deceived  with  regard  to 
its  actual  dimensions.  This  is  particularly  true  of 
the  famous  quadrangular  area  of  the  Louvre,  which 
is  several  hundred  feet  square.  Let  the  visiter, 
after  passing  through  the  noble  archway  that  opens 
into  this  court,  continue  his  steps  to  the  centre  of 
the  area,  and  there  pause  and  look  around  him. 
That  majestic  simplicity,  which  reigns  throughout 
the  whole,  and  is  the  very  perfection  of  art,  riv- 
ets and  enchants,  while  the  eye  revels  in  wonder 
and  delight  over  the  elaborate  finish  and  exquisite 
harmony,  that  mark  even  the  minutest  details.  A 
large  section  of  this  palace  bears  the  name  of 
Musee  Royale,  and  serves  as  a  depository  for  the 
most  valuable  paintings  and  statuary  the  Capital 
can  boast. 

The  gallery  of  Paintings  in  the  Louvre  is  one- 
fourth  of  a  mile  in  length,  and  the  whole  immense 
extent  glows  with  the  pictured  canvass.  It  is 
needless  to  say,  that,  at  first  view,  it  is  most  truly 
imposing.    So  colossal    appeared  to  me  the  scale, 


230  PARIS. 

which  my  mind  could  measure  by  no  intermediate 
degrees  of  comparison,  that  I  hesitated  an  instant 
to  give  credence  to  the  bewildered  sense. 

During  the  long  wars  of  Napoleon,  the  Museum 
of  the  Louvre  was  enriched  by  numerous  chefs- 
d^oeuvre,  both  in  painting  and  sculpture,  transferred 
from  the  Halls  of  the  vanquished  to  grace  the 
Capital  of  the  conqueror  ;  the  inimitable  produc- 
tions of  Raffaelle,  Domenichino,  and  their  great 
contemporaries,  decorated  the  walls  of  the  Louvre. 
Within  these  walls,  too,  stood  the  statue  that  "  en- 
chants the  world,"  and  that,  the  noblest  offspring 
of  the  Grecian  chisel, 

"  The  Lord  of  the  Unerring  Bow, 
The  God  of  Life  and  Poesy  and  Light." 

After  the  restoration  of  the  Bourbon  family, 
these  chefs-d^ceuvre  returned  to  their  respective 
owners  ;  but  yet,  though  stripped  of  its  rarest  gems, 
is  this  famous  gallery  most  rich  and  beautiful. 
The  paintings  are  tastefully  arranged,  according  to 
the  various  schools  from  which  they  emanate, 
French,  Italian,  or  Flemish  ;  and  the  productions 
of  each  celebrated  artist  are  distinctly  classed,  in 
such  manner  as  to  avoid  confusion. 

The  works  of  modern  French  artists  will  afford 
but  little  pleasure  to  one  familiar  with  the  exquisite 
finish,  harmony,  and  truth  of  the  Italian  school. 
The  great  difficulty  with  them  is,  that  they  are  not 
true  to  nature.  Their  pictures,  indeed,  display  all 
that  vivid  glare  of  coloring,  which  may  for  a  while 
arrest  the  eye  ;  but  you  look  in  vain  for  the  sub- 
lime beauty  of  expression,  the  chaste  and  classic  dis- 


REMARKS   ON    PAINTING.  231 

position  of  figures,  conjoined  with  an  epic  force  and 
harmony  of  composition,  —  a  union  that  can  alone 
give  immortality  to  the  canvass.  But  after  all,  the 
fault  is  not  so  much  that  of  the  artist  as  of  the  age 
in  which  he  lives. 

Painting  was  brought  to  perfection  by  the  great 
Italian  masters  of  the  sixteenth  century.  The  hand 
that  traced  the  glorious  Transfiguration,*  raised  the 
art  to  its  acme,  and  left  to  succeeding  ages  but  the 
easy  task  of  admiration.  In  the  progress  of  cen- 
turies, the  taste  of  mankind  becomes  revolutionized. 
The  onward  march  of  Luxury  corrupts  the  very 
constitution  of  society  ;  and  that  which  once  pleased 
by  its  noble  simplicity  and  faithful  adherence  to 
truth,  would  fall  now  tasteless  and  insipid  upon  the 
moral  palate,  of  which,  artificial  and  highly  seasoned 
food  has  impaired  the  tone.  Were  an  artist  now  to 
follow  in  the  path  which  a  Raffaelle,  a  Titian,  a 
Guido,  have  rendered  glorious,  the  attempt,  with 
whatever  talent  to  sanction  it,  would  undoubtedly 
fail  of  success.  Some  new  path  must  therefore  be 
opened,  and,  when  that  ceases  to  invite,  another 
and  another.  But  these  deviations  from  the  legiti- 
mate track  seldom  survive  their  authors,  and  never 
will  the  great  truth-teller.  Time,  lend  the  weight 
of  his  testimony  to  ratify  their  proud  claims  with 
posterity. 

*  Raffaelle's  chef-cTauvre,  which  now  graces  the  penetralia  of  the 
Vatican. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

Description  of  the  Palais  Royal.  —  Its  magnificent  Area  and  Prome- 
nades. —  Passage  d'Orleans.  —  Its  splendid  Appearance  at  Evening. 

—  Glance  at  the  principal  Features  of  the  Palais  Royal.  —  Variety 
and  Brilliancy  of  the  Magasins  and  Cafes.  —  The  Cafe  des  Aveugles. 
— Atmosphere  of  Gayety  about  the  Palais  Royal.  —  Its  Effect  upon 
the  Feelings.  —  Principal  Theatres  of  Paris.  —  French  Opera  House. 

—  Principal  Performers  in  Opera  and  Ballet.  —  Interior  Arrange- 
ment of  the  Salle.  —  Prices  of  Admission.  — The  Royal  Box.  —  Sa- 
loon of  the  Opera. 

Bidding  adieu  to  the  varied  treasures  of  the 
Louvre,  we  will  for  a  moment  enter  the  precincts 
of  the  Palais  Royal,  an  edifice,  which,  with  its 
various  appurtenances,  is  certainly  one  of  the  most 
striking  features  of  the  miniature  world  of  Paris. 
This  extensive  pile  was  commenced  under  the 
auspices  of  Richelieu  for  a  royal  residence,  as 
its  present  appellation  would  import.  In  process 
of  time  it  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Orleans  family, 
and  contributed  in  a  great  degree  to  their  princely 
revenue. 

While  in  the  hands  of  Philippe,  Duke  of  Orleans, 
surnamed  Egalitc,  the  Palais  Royal  was  the  very 
centre  and  hot-bed  of  Parisian  dissipation  and 
sensuality  ;  and  thus  it  continued  for  a  long  series  of 
years,  until  the  character  of  the  place  was  essential- 
ly changed,  during  the  reign  of  Charles  the  Tenth. 

The  entire  edifice,  forms  a  spacious,  oblong 
square,    the   area   of  which  serves  as   a  place    of 


THE  PALAIS  ROYAL  AS  IT  NOW  IS.  233 

promenade  and  amusement  for  the  citizens.  It  is 
planted  with  rows  of  trees,  under  whose  protecting 
foliage  are  ranged  numerous  benclies,  where  of  a 
pleasant  morning  the  bourgeois  repairs  from  his 
dcjefmer,  at  the  adjoining  cafe,  to  read  the  news  of 
the  day,  or  puff  away  all  care  in  smoke.  Here, 
too,  at  a  later  hour,  may  be  found  the  young  moth- 
er or  nurse,  fondly  gazing  on  the  smiling  child,  as 
he  trundles  the  circling  hoop,  or  lightly  skips  the 
flying  cord. 

The  Palais  Royal  is  indeed  the  legitimate  do- 
main of  pleasure  and  gayety,  and  all  appears  ex- 
cluded that  ministers  not  thereunto.  The  appella- 
tion of  Royal  Palace  seems  to  be  continued  by 
custom  and  sufferance,  for  such  in  fact  has  this 
edifice  long  ceased  to  be.  It  is  at  present  tenanted 
by  tradesmen,  restaurcUcurs,  jewellers,  and  artisans 
of  every  denomination,  and  produces  from  these 
various  sources  an  enormous  income  to  its  princely 
proprietor. 

A  more  splendid  collection  of  bijouterie  and 
precious  stones  of  all  descriptions,  than  is  here 
displayed,  can  be  seen  in  no  other  quarter  of  Paris. 
Shops  for  vending  these  and  other  articles  of  mer- 
chandise occupy  generally  the  first  floor  of  the 
edifice ;  above  are  restaurants,  billiard-rooms,  5a- 
lons  de  jeu,  and  cabinets  de  lecture.  In  fine,  within 
the  limits  of  the  Palais  Royal  is  to  be  found,  in 
heterogeneous  mixture,  a  plentiful  sprinkling  of  the 
various  elements  that  serve  to  make  up  the  great 
city. 

The  promenade  that  circumscribes  the  court  is 
30 


234  PARIS. 

formed  by  a  chain  of  arcades,  separated  by  square 
pillars.  Besides  this  there  is  another,  much  more 
beautiful,  the  Passage  d'^Orlhms.  Tiiis  splendid 
arcade,  to  be  seen  in  fullest  advantage,  must  be 
visited  during  the  hours  of  evening.  Its  appear- 
ance is  then  brilliant  in  the  extreme  ;  the  well-fur- 
nished magasins,  with  their  costly  stuffs  shining 
through  the  vitreous  expanse,  the  large  and  frequent 
mirrors,  dispensing  the  vivid  glare  from  their  pol- 
ished surface  at  a  thousand  glittering  angles,  the 
superb  Cafe  d'Orleans,  with  its  noble  mirrors,  its 
richly  ornamented  walls  and  ceiling ;  all  burning 
in  the  intense  brightness  of  artificial  day,  —  com- 
bine to  form  a  coup  deceit  of  well  nigh  magic 
splendor.  The  moving  groups,  ever  passing  to  and 
fro,  give  life  and  motion  to  the  scene. 

The  description  I  have  attempted  of  the  Passage 
dWrleans,  confessedly  the  finest  of  all  the  arcades 
in  and  about  the  Palais  Royal,  may  be  applied 
with  slight  reservation  to  the  entire  area  of  this 
remarkable  edifice.  It  is  certain,  that  this  charm- 
ant  pays,  as  the  Frenchman  terms  it,  is  painted  in 
warmest  coloring  on  the  tablet  of  my  mind,  doubt- 
less in  a  great  measure  from  the  circumstance  of 
its  having  been  visited  when  I  was  new  to  the 
world  of  European  splendor.  It  was  a  beautiful 
evening,  and  my  first  in  Paris,  when,  in  company 
with  a  more  experienced  friend,  the  bright  scene 
broke,  all  unheralded.,  upon  me. 

The  Palais  Royal  seems  to  contain  within  its 
w^alls  the  very  essence,  or,  if  I  may  so  speak,  the 
active  principle,  of  a  large  and  populous  city.     Ev- 


SHOPS  IN  THE  PALAIS  ROYAL.  235 

ery  thing  that  has  a  name  seems  here  to  possess  a 
local  habitation.  The  tasteful  shops  in  every 
portion  of  this  extraordinary  edifice  are  as  various 
as  the  wants,  necessities,  or  luxuries,  which  bade 
them  exist.  There  you  pass  the  window  of  a 
fashionable  artiste,  and  gaze  through  the  ample 
pane  upon  the  rich  ctoffes  de  sole  and  elegant 
cloths,  that  compose  his  stock.  A  step  or  two 
farther,  and  the  eye  is  dazzled  with  a  brilliant  dis- 
play of  jewelry,  precious  stones,  watches,  opera- 
glasses,  &c.  The  next  room  is  a  spacious  cafe, 
and  the  beautiful  girl,  who  presides,  claims  your 
passing  moment  of  admiration.  The  window  of  an 
adjoining  magasin  is  garnished  with  pipes  of  every 
description,  from  the  unassuming  one  en  hois  at 
ten  sous,  to  the  curiously  carved  ccume  de  mer,  at 
as  many  napoleons.  Enter  the  shop,  and  every 
thing  is  redolent  of  the  fragrant  weed.  You  will 
find  nothing  there,  that  subserves  not  the  uses  of 
tobacco.  In  return  for  your  trois  sous,  the  young 
woman  behind  the  counter  presents  you  with  a 
cigar  and  match,  and  gracefully  responds  to  your 
parting  salutation. 

Extending  your  walk  you  observe,  in  close  vi- 
cinity, the  splendid  saloons  of  Vefour  and  Very, 
(twin  stars  of  gastronomic  brightness),  where  the 
plump  ortolan  and  delicate  perdrix  farci  aux  truffes 
unite  their  fascinations  to  rivet  the  attention  of  the 
gentle  Epicure. 

Besides  what  I  have  already  mentioned,  there  is 
in  the  Palais  Royal  an  infinity  of  objects  to  interest 
and  amuse  the  stranger.     The  learned  professions, 


236  PARIS. 

too,  are  represented  there,  more  especially  the 
medical;  and,  to  complete  the  picture,  not  much 
in  the  back-ground  may  be  discerned  the  tender 
goddess  of  Love,  with  her  hand-maiden,  Lucina, 
and,  however  miworthy  such  "  fayre  companie," 
that  retiring  nymph,  who  presides  over  the  humbler 
necessities  of  mankind.  The  Palais  Royal  has  also 
its  theatres  ;  attached  to  its  walls  are  the  theatres 
Francais  and  Palais  Royal,  and  in  its  immediate 
vicinity  stands  the   Vaudeville. 

For  the  lower  classes,  whose  means  will  not 
permit  them  to  indulge  in  expensive  amusements, 
there  are  cafes,  where  such  of  the  public  as  choose 
are  nightly  regaled  with  morceaux  —  not  the  most 
mellifluous  —  of  instrumental  music,  and  humble 
attempts  at  theatrical  effect.  The  most  remarkable 
of  these  is  the  Cafe  des  Aveugles.  This  resort  is 
subterranean,  and  you  descend  to  it  by  a  flight  of 
rude  stone  stairs,  damp  and  ill-lighted,  and  well 
calculated  withal  to  allow  the  incautious  stranger 
an  opportunity  of  breaking  his  neck  (as  I  nearly 
did),  while  endeavouring  only  to  gratify  a  laudable 
curiosity.  Arrived  there,  you  seat  yourself  at  a 
table,  and  call  for  what  you  wish.  It  must  be  ob- 
served, that  nothing  is  paid  for  admission,  and  that 
the  only  tax  levied  on  the  visiter  is  a  small  addi- 
tional sum  upon  the  articles  of  refreshment. 

The  orchestra  of  this  establishment  consists  of  a 
few  blind  musicians ;  hence  the  name.  Cafe  des 
Aveugles.  There  is  also  a  man  fantastically  cos- 
tumed, who  may  be  regarded  as  the  harlequin,  and 
is  held  in  great  repute  by  the  habitues  of  the  cafe. 


THE  CAFE  DES  AVEUGLES.  237 

Judging  by  his  dress,  or  rather  undress,  you  would 
suppose  him  in  the  role  of  a  South  American 
cazique ;  ever  and  anon,  after  sundry  prefatory 
brandishes,  he  smites  with  sonorous  influence  upon 
a  capacious  drum.  Upon  a  sudden,  with  incon- 
ceivable agility  he  darts  into  an  adjoining  apart- 
ment, and,  in  a  moment  as  suddenly  reappearing, 
goes  through  a  series  of  violent  and  ferocious  ges- 
ticulations, that  never  fail  of  affording  huge  enter- 
tainment to  all  present. 

Should  the  visiter  be  willing  to  expend  two  or 
three  francs  extra  on  the  occasion,  he  can  command 
any  tune  within  the  compass  of  the  musicians. 
We  fancied  the  national  air  would  lose  nought  of 
its  inspiring  effect,  even  at  three  thousand  miles' 
distance  from  home,  and  accordingly  signified  an 
inclination  that  it  should  be  played.  The  effort 
was  beyond  their  humble  talents ;  but,  to  console 
us,  they  of  their  own  accord  struck  up  "  God  save 
the  King,"  thinking  no  doubt  that  would  do  quite 
as  well. 

Such  is  life  in  the  Palais  Royal,  high  and  low. 
But  it  is  next  to  impossible  to  do  justice  to 
the  tableau.  There  is  an  atmosphere  of  gayety 
floating  around  this  far-famed  rendezvous,  that 
the  pen  can  give  but  a  faint  idea  of,  and  which, 
indeed,  one  must  breathe  for  a  while,  ere  its 
wonderful  properties  can  be  fully  understood. 
Were  I  to  counsel  a  friend,  who  would  fain  seek 
in  change  of  scene  a  substitute,  even  though  tran- 
sient, for  that  happiness  and  tranquillity  which  have 
deserted  him,  —  of  all   places  in  the   world,   for  a 


238  PARIS. 

brief  residence,  I  would  recommend  Paris,  and  of 
all  places  in  Paris  I  would  suggest  the  Palais  Royal. 
From  my  own  experience,  1  am  convinced  that 
no  one,  however  desponding  his  temperament,  can 
stand  in  the  midst  of  that  spacious  area,  while  on  his 
ear  falls  the  grateful  music  of  the  murmuring  fount, 
and  his  vision  embraces  each  feature  of  the  brilliant 
scene,  with  the  vast  tide  of  human  beings  pouring 
ever  ceaseless  onward  in  the  various  channels 
that  pleasure  or  serious  pursuits  have  marked  out, 
—  without  escaping  awhile  from  himself,  and  for- 
getting even  the  vulture  that  preys  on  his  heart. 

The  theatres  in  Paris  are  very  numerous ;  there 
are  more  than  twenty  open  nightly.  Of  these,  the 
most  considerable  are  the  French  and  Italian  Opera 
Houses,  the  Theatre  Francais,  the  Opera  Comique, 
the  Odeon,  Gymnase,  Vaudeville,  Varietes,  Porte 
St.  Martin,  and  the  Salle  Ventadour. 

The  French  Opera  House,  otherwise  called  UAca- 
demie  Royale  de  Musique,  is  the  best  appointed  and 
most  elegant  theatre  in  Paris.  The  most  celebrat- 
ed artists  attached  to  this  establishment  are,  in  the 
opera,  MM.  Nourrit,  Levasseur,  Lafont,  Derivis, 
Alexis,  and  Mesdames  Cinti  Damoreau,  Dorus 
Gras,  and  Falcon.  Those  of  acknowledged  talent 
in  the  ballet  are,  first  and  peerless.  Mademoiselle 
Taglioni,  second,  sed  longo  intervallo,  Duvernay ; 
then  come  Noblet,  Alexis,  Pauline  Leroux,  Mon- 
tessu,  Julie,  Fitz  James ;  the  sisters  Essler  possess 
a  rank  above  the  majority  of  these,  —  more  espe- 
cially the  brilliant  Fanny,  but  they  are  not  per- 
manently attached  to  the  corps. 


INTERIOR  OF  THE  ACADEMIE   ROYALE.  239 

The  theatre  itself,  though  to  appearance  twice 
the  size  of  our  larse  Houses,  will  contain  an  audi- 
eiice  by  no  means  proportionate  to  ils  apparent 
dimensions,  and  for  this  obvious  reason;  the  conve- 
nience and  comfort  of  the  spectator  are  consulted, 
and  not,  as  with  us  and  in  the  English  theatres, 
the  profits  of  the  director  alone.  The  Academic 
Royale,  like  most  large  French  theatres,  is  divided 
into  numerous  compartments.  There  is  the  spacious 
parterre,  and  the  stalles  dPorchestre,  that  portion  of 
the  pit  nearest  the  orchestra.  There  are  the  avant 
scenes,  magnificent  loges,  corresponding  in  position 
with  our  proscenium  boxes.  There  are  the  balcons 
at  either  extremity  of  the  first  or  dress  circle,  (pre- 
mieres loges.)  Below  these,  and  on  a  line  with 
the  parterre,  are  the  loges  of  the  rez  de  chausse. 
At  the  superior  part  of  the  pit,  is  the  amphilhedtre  ; 
in  addition  to  these,  there  are  the  deuxieme,  troi- 
sieme,  and  quatrieme  loges. 

The  prix  d''entrce  is  nearly  as  various  as  are  the 
divisions  of  the  House.  For  the  parterre,  which  is 
very  roomy  and  provided  with  excellent  seats,  it 
is  three  francs  and  ten  sous  ;  for  the  stalles  d^or- 
chestre,  seven  francs  are  paid  at  the  door,  or  ten 
if  you  secure  your  billet  at  a  previous  hour.  These 
stalles  are  all  numbered,  each  one  is  provided  with 
arms,  also  comfortably  cushioned  and  velveted.  By 
timely  application  you  can  secure  any  number  not 
hired  for  the  season,  and,  come  at  what  hour  of  the 
representation  you  may,  no  trouble  is  experienced 
from  occupants  by  the  right  of  possession.  For  a 
billet  in  the  balcon,  which  corresponds  to  our  stage- 


240  PARIS. 

box,  the  same  price  is  demanded  as  for  a  stalk 
d^orchestre ;  the  premieres  loges  are  less  expen- 
sive, and  so  on. 

In  the  centre  of  the  first  circle,  distinguishable 
from  the  rest  by  its  superior  size  and  decoration,  is 
the  Royal  Box.  The  King  of  the  French  and  the 
ladies  of  the  Royal  Family  but  seldom  attend  the 
Opera  ;  although  upon  occasions,  —  such  as  the  visit 
of  Leopold  to  his  father-in-law,  1  have  seen  Louis 
Philippe  with  the  King  of  Belgium,  his  fair-haired 
consort,  and  her  darker  but  not  less  beautiful 
sisters,  Marie  and  Clementine,  assembled  in  the 
Roval  Box.  The  Dukes  of  Orleans  and  Nemours 
are  much  more  constant  visiters. 

The  internal  decorations  of  the  House  are  pro- 
fuse and  tasteful,  although  the  prevailing  color, 
crimson,  while  it  adds  to  the  gorgeousness  of  the 
general  effect,  detracts  from  that  Ugere  and  airy 
beauty,  that  delights  and  enchains  the  eye.  The 
saloon  of  the  Opera  House  is  long  and  spacious, 
and  is  used  almost  exclusively  as  a  place  of  prome- 
nade. This  apartment,  if  we  except  its  profusion 
of  mirrors,  is  by  no  means  distinguished  for  splen- 
dor of  decoration ;  but  it  wears  a  very  gay  and 
elegant  appearance  when  the  fashion  and  beauty  of 
the  metropolis,  multiplied  into  endless  shapes  by 
the  reflecting  glass,  are  lightly  moving  along  its 
tesselated  floor. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

The  Academic  Royale  de  Musique.  —  Leading  Operas  there  repre- 
sented. —  Robert  le  Diable.  —  Excellence  of  Nourrit  in  that  Char- 
acter.—  Magnificent  Scenic  Effect.  —  Ballet-Opera  of  La  Tenta- 
tion.  —  Scene  representing  L'Eufer.  —  La  Juive.  —  Les  Huguenots. 
—  Nourrit.  —  Lafont.  —  Levasseur.  —  Madame  Cinti  Damoreau.  — 
Madame  Dorus  Gras.  —  Mademoiselle  Falcon. 

In  concluding  a  description  of  the  Academic 
Royale  de  Musique,  I  must  observe  that  its  appear- 
ance, from  without,  is  by  no  means  imposing.  It 
is  remarkable  neither  for  the  solidity  of  its  ma- 
sonry, nor  the  symmetry  of  its  architecture.  The 
building  was  erected  in  much  haste,  and  with  but 
little  regard  to  external  beauty,  after  the  abandon- 
ment of  the  Opera  House  in  the  Rue  Richelieu, 
when  the  Due  de  Berri  met  his  death  from  the 
assassin's  dagger. 

The  performances  at  this  theatre  take  place 
three  nights  only  during  the  week,  leaving  the 
remaining  three  for  the  Italian  Opera,  which  never 
opens  its  doors  on  the  same  day  with  the  former. 
Occasionally,  at  the  Academic  Royale,  some  repre- 
sentation extraordinaire  is  offered  the  public  of  a 
Sunday  evening  ;  but  the  occurrence  is  rare.  The 
most  admired  operas,  performing  at  this  theatre 
during  my  residence  in  Paris,  were  first  and  fore- 
most, Mayerbeer's  Robert  le  Diable ;  Auber's  Gus- 
tave  and  Le  Philtre,  with  Massaniello,  by  the  same 
31 


242  PARIS. 

composer,  Rossini's  Guillaume  Tell  and  Moise, 
with  the  ballet-operas  of  La  Tentation  and  Le 
Dieu  et  la  Bayadere.  Two  new  operas  were  also 
brought  out  during  that  time  in  a  style  of  great 
splendor,  —  La  Jiiive,  music  by  Halevy,  and  Les 
Huguenots,  by  Mayerbeer. 

Of  all  these  operas,  "  Robert  le  Diable"  is  by  far 
the  most  popular.  Notwithstanding  its  frequent 
performance,  —  no  less  than  two  hundred  times, 
—  the  announcement  of  the  piece  is  ever  sure  to 
attract  a  crowded  audience.  The  role  of  the  Devil 
Prince  is  Nourrit's  chef-d^ceuvre.  The  absorbing 
interest  of  the  character  is  most  happily  sustained 
by  this  accomplished  artist,  until  it  terminates  in 
the  grand,  overpowering  crisis.  The  last  scene  is  a 
splendid  specimen  of  acting  ;  the  long  and  terrible 
hesitation  of  Robert  between  the  tears  and  en- 
treaties of  his  foster-sister  and  the  frantic  invoca- 
tion of  his  infernal  sire,  is  depicted  with  a  fidelity 
that  harrows  up  the  soul.  Alice  at  length  prevails, 
and  Bertrand  sinks  to  the  regions  of  Lucifer,  in  the 
midst  of  the  devouring  element ;  the  curtain  drops 
and  closes  the  scene. 

After  a  representation  of  this  piece,  I  have  re- 
peatedly seen  the  whole  parterre  rise  to  a  man, 
while  the  vast  theatre  rang  with  calls  for  Nour- 
rit.  He  appears  and  disappears,  welcomed  by 
the  warm  cheering  of  the  enthusiastic  spectators. 
When  there  is  encouragement  like  this,  based  on 
sound  discrimination,  we  are  not  surprised  at 
meeting  with  superior  excellence. 

In  the  third  act  of  this  opera,  there  is  a  grand 


ROBERT  LE  DIABLE.  243 

display  of  scenic  effect,  in  unison  with  a  tableau, 
which  at  first  sight  appears  rather  startling  to  the 
spectator.  It  is  the  scene  where  Robert,  at  the 
instigation  of  his  father,  repairs  to  the  mined 
monastery,  to  snatch  from  its  inanimate  possessor 
the  magic  branch.  In  the  foreground  of  the  pic- 
ture are  seen  the  lifeless  forms  of  the  nuns,  reposing 
on  the  marble's  cold  surface,  while  in  the  distance, 
deepened  by  the  rare  perspective,  rise,  massive  and 
venerable,  the  moss-grown  pillars,  bathed  in  the 
cold,  mystic  flood  of  moonlight. 

The  enchanter  appears.  At  his  dread  summons, 
those  gliding  flames,  emblems  of  the  soul,  career 
through  the  wide  chamber,  and  in  lambent  play 
dance  around  each  breathless  figure.  Of  a  sudden, 
the  lids  of  the  sarcophagi  arise,  and,  slipping  from 
their  marble  couches,  leap  lightly  to  the  ground, 
those  shrouded  forms,  now  instinct  with  breath- 
ing life ;  at  the  same  moment  are  seen,  emerging 
from  the  gloomy  aisles,  in  slow  procession,  and 
arrayed  in  the  drapery  of  the  grave,  a  long  and 
vapory  retinue ;  —  it  is  the  religious  sisterhood, 
summoned  from  their  slumber  by  the  same  dread 
words.  At  first,  their  movements  are  slow  and 
solemn.  By-and-by,  the  light  becomes  more  pal- 
pable ;  they  recognise  each  other,  and,  casting 
aside  their  sepulchral  raiment,  they  move  to  the 
soft  and  voluptuous  music  of  the  danse. 

Yielding  to  the  graceful  entreaty  of  her  who 
leads  the  band,  Robert  advances  and  plucks  the 
magic  twig.  In  an  instant  disappear  the  effects  of 
that  incantation.     Amid  the  horrid  din  that  ensues. 


244  PARIS. 

the  nuns  are  dispersed  in  the  darkness,  or  sink  in- 
animate to  the  ground,  and  the  whole  scene  vanish- 
es away. 

I  have  thus  dwelt,  at  some  length,  on  the  de- 
scription of  scenes  from  this  celebrated  opera,  both 
from  the  circumstance  of  its  sterling  merit,  and 
wonderful  success  in  the  city  where  it  was  origi- 
nally produced ;  and,  also,  because  that,  though 
frequently  performed  in  this  country,  it  is  really 
but  little  known,  — the  representation,  that  we  are 
here  familiar  with,  displaying  as  it  were  but  a  mere 
skeleton  of  the  noble  composition. 

There  is  yet  often  represented,  on  the  boards  of 
the  Academic  Royale,  a  ballet-opera,  which  for  a 
time  divided  the  popular  admiration  with  Robert. 
It  is  called  La  Tentation,  and  shows  the  various 
temptations  with  which  the  recluse,  St.  Anthony, 
was  assailed,  by  the  enemy  of  souls.  It  is  a  single 
scene  only  from  this  piece  that  I  would  particular- 
ize, —  the  one  characterized  as  UEnfer,  and  such 
a  picture  as  the  harsh  genius  of  a  Dante  might 
have  chosen  to  image  forth  the  horrors  of  his 
"  Inferno." 

The  Prince  of  Darkness  is  represented  as  hold- 
ing council,  and  all  the  legions  of  Hell  are  assem- 
bled to  await  the  issue.  The  dire  conclave  press  in 
horrid  groups  over  the  stage,  and  cover,  as  far  as 
the  eye  can  reach,  the  steps  of  a  colossal  staircase, 
that  extends,  apparently,  into  the  far  regions  of 
Space.  Ashtaroth  consults  with  his  dread  troop  on 
the  most  efficacious  means  of  assailing  the  hitherto 
immaculate  virtue  of  the  Saint.   At  length,  the  plan 


A  SCENE  FROM  "LA  TENTATION."  246 

is  agreed  upon.  A  huge  caldron  is  brought  for- 
ward, into  which  are  cast  unholy  and  incongruous 
materials.  The  incantation  proceeds,  the  charm 
takes  effect,  and  anon  from  the  seething  vessel,  in 
the  first  warm  blush  of  existence,  there  springs  forth 
a  beauteous  female. 

The  music,  the  tempting  fruit,  the  rose  with  its 
thorn,  the  radiant  mirror,  awake  her  to  graceful 
consciousness  of  each  new-born  sense,  and  she 
testifies  her  happiness  in  the  expressive  and  har- 
monious poetry  of  the  danse.  On  her  left  breast  is 
a  black  spot,  in  the  form  of  a  heart,  —  the  brand  of 
her  unhallowed  origin.  Thus  created  and  endow- 
ed, she  is  sent  to  earth  to  fulfil  her  mission.  The 
unfortunate  Saint,  who  upon  trial  betrays  rather  a 
strong  admixture  of  the  man  in  his  composition, 
passes  at  length  through  all  the  vicissitudes  of 
peril,  hunger,  and  privation.  Touched  by  the 
misfortunes  of  which  she  has  been  the  cause,  the 
infernal  maiden  finally  relents,  and  bestows  food 
upon  the  famished  anchorite,  whose  necessities 
have  driven  him  for  sustenance  and  shelter  to  the 
princely  mansion,  where  his  persecutors,  in  the 
guise  of  knights,  are  feasting  with  the  loud  notes  of 
revelry  and  music.  The  black  stain  now  vanishes 
from  the  breast  of  the  maiden,  and  her  heart  be- 
comes alive  to  the  influence  of  the  true  faith.  She 
is  now  persecuted  in  turn,  and  finally  escapes  the 
vengeful  malice  of  the  defeated  fiends,  by  the  time- 
ly intervention  alone  of  a  superior  and  celestial 
power.  The  beleaguered  saint  is  freed  from  his 
toils,  the  good  receives  its  due  compensation,  while 


246  PARIS. 

the  ministers  of  evil,  thwarted  in  their  purpose,  are 
dismissed  to  the  realms  of  darkness.  Thus  con- 
cludes the  piece. 

The  scene  representing  L^Enfer  is  the  most 
extraordinary  I  have  ever  witnessed  at  the  Acade- 
mic Rojale,  or  elsewhere.  The  entire  strength  of 
the  corps  de  ballet  is  exhibited  in  the  hundreds  of 
figures  that  half  conceal  the  stupendous  staircase, 
and  throng  the  wide  area  below,  leaving  only  space 
sufficient  for  the  mazy  evolutions  of  a  diabolical 
danse,  which,  with  its  characteristic  music,  is  by  no 
means  the  least  prominent  feature  of  the  scene. 
The  wide  extent  of  stage,  exaggerated  to  infinite 
distance  by  an  admirable  perspective,  combines 
with  the  red  glare  of  the  lurid  light,  to  impress  on 
the  mind,  in  its  full  extent  of  horror,  the  dark, 
unearthly  nature  of  the  scene. 

The  opera  of  La  Juive,  by  Halevy,  was  brought 
out  more  than  two  years  since,  in  a  style  of  great 
magnificence.  The  general  character  of  the  music 
somewhat  disappointed  the  public  opinion,  but  the 
gorgeousness  of  the  scenic  display  was  of  itself 
sufficient  to  attract  vast  crowds.  The  glittering 
processions,  the  triumphant  cavalcades  of  stalwart 
knights,  resplendent  in  the  burnished  mail  and 
armorial  trappings,  described  by  old  Froissart  in 
his  Chronicle,  seemed  to  reembody  the  gallant 
chivalry  of  the  Middle  Ages. 

The  principal  characters  of  the  opera  were  ad- 
mirably sustained  by  Nourrit  and  Mademoiselle 
Falcon.  The  plot  of  the  piece  refers  to  that  war- 
like   period,    when    the   persecution   of  the    once 


OPERA  OF  "LA  JUIVE."  247 

chosen  people  of  God  was  at  the  higliest  point  of 
exasperated  bigotry. 

Eleazar,  tlie  rich  Hebrew,  and  his  lovely  daugh- 
ter, are  offered  life  on  condition  of  renouncing  their 
religion  ;  both  steadfastly  refuse,  and  are  condemned 
to  die.  At  the  place  of  sacrifice,  Eleazar  informs 
the  superintending  Priest,  that  he  is  in  posses- 
sion of  a  secret,  to  him  of  the  utmost  importance. 
"Many  years  since,"  continued  the  Jew,  "  the  city 
of  your  residence  was  invaded  and  carried  by  storm. 
Your  treasures  were  seized,  your  mansion  razed 
to  the  ground,  and  an  infant  daughter  was  torn 
from  its  mother's  bosom,  by  the  brutal  grasp  of  the 
ruffian.  That  daughter  lives  ;  she  was  rescued,  — 
rescued  by  a  Jew,  and  I  alone  possess  the  secret 
of  her  existence."  The  Priest,  with  all  a  father's 
eloquence  and  tears,  implores  the  revelation.  Elea- 
zar wavers.  At  this  moment  the  beautiful  Jewess 
has  attained  the  fatal  platform  ;  a  smile  of  trium- 
phant resignation  lights  up  her  pale  features,  one 
moment  of  suspense  ensues,  and  she  is  precipitated 
headlong  into  the  hoiling  caldron  below.  La  voila! 
shrieks  the  Jew,  and  the  whole  vanishes  from  the 
eye.  This  incident,  forming  the  nucleus  of  the 
drama,  is  wonderfully  dramatic  and  effective  ;  there 
is  some  beautiful  music  in  the  piece.  The  mor- 
ceau,  in  the  last  act,  descriptive  of  the  Jew's  love 
for  his  adopted  child,  and  expressive  also  of  his 
determination  that  she  shall  die  with  him,  the  se- 
cret unrevealed,  rather  than  peril  her  soul  by  ab- 
juring the  religion  he  has  taught  her,  is  replete 
with  the  most  touching  melody. 


248  PARIS. 

Some  months  subsequently  appeared  the  grand 
Opera  called  Les  Huguenots,  by  the  composer  of 
Robert.  The  incidents  woven  into  the  piece  are 
drawn  from  that  troublous  period,  when,  under  the 
dark  auspices  of  Catharine  de  Medicis  and  her 
Nero-like  son,  the  unsuspecting  Huguenots,  with 
the  brave  Coligni  at  their  head,  were  well  nigh 
extirpated,  in  one  fell  massacre,  from  the  fair  soil 
of  France. 

As  a  composition,  this  opera  must  be  pronounced 
inferior  to  Robert  le  Diable,  and  can  be  said  to  have 
added  nothing  to  the  previously  acquired  reputation 
of  Mayerbeer. 

Having  thus  furnished  a  rapid  summary  of  the 
operas,  let  us  take  a  cursory  glance  at  those  dis- 
tinguished artists  who  appear  in  them.  Of  these, 
the  most  prominent  is  Nourrit ;  after  Rubini,  sec- 
ond to  no  tenor  in  Europe,  and  possessing  a  merit 
Rubini  has  not,  —  that  of  being  at  the  same  time 
an  excellent  actor. 

In  the  high,  passionate  notes,  the  voice  of  Nour- 
rit is  slightly  marked  with  a  nasal  intonation,  and 
in  these  passages  can  sustain  no  comparison  with 
that  clear,  silvery  ring,  that,  at  the  highest  point  of 
his  compass,  so  eminently  distinguishes  the  Italian. 
In  person,  Nourrit  is  of  the  middle  height,  with  a 
broad,  ample  chest,  and  a  figure  inclined  to  corpu- 
lence. His  features  are  regular,  and  his  expression 
of  countenance  well  adapted  to  the  personation  of 
the  heroic  characters  he  assumes. 

The  yearly  pension  he  receives  is  not  so  large, 
as,  judging  from  his  extreme  popularity,  one  would 


LAFONT.— MADAME  CINTI  DAMOREAU.  249 

be  led  to  infer.  It  amounts  to  thirty  thousand 
francs.  But  consideration  must  be  had,  that  there 
are  but  three  performances  weekly,  and  during  the 
summer  months  the  artist  is  entitled  to  a  conge, 
which  ensures  him  a  golden  harvest  in  the  several 
Departments. 

Lafont  possesses  a  tenor  of  excellent  quality. 
He  is  the  double  of  Nourrit,  and  during  the  absence 
of  that  artiste  sustains  the  highest  roles.  The  char- 
acters in  which  he  appears  to  greatest  advantage 
are  the  "  Brama  "  in  Le  Dieu  et  la  Bayadere,  with 
Mademoiselle  Taglioni  for  the  "  Zoloe,"  and  "  Mas- 
saniello."  Lafont  is  what  the  French  term  a  hel 
homme.  His  form  approaches,  in  its  large  propor- 
tions, to  the  Herculean,  and  his  features  may  be 
considered  eminently  handsome. 

Levasseur  is  the  primo  basso.  His  voice  is  deep 
and  sonorous.  In  the  character  of  Bertrand  (Meyer- 
beer's Opera),  this  artiste  appears  to  great  advan- 
tage, and  his  deep,  sepulchral  tones  consort  effec- 
tively with  the  wild  grandeur  of  the  composition. 

Derivis  sustains  a  relation  to  Levasseur  similar 
to  that  which  Lafont  bears  to  Nourrit.  There  are 
other  agreeable  singers  at  the  Jlcademie,  Dabadie, 
Alexis,  Prevot,  concerning  whom  it  is  unnecessary 
to  enter  into  detail. 

The  prima  donna  at  the  French  Opera  during 
the  greater  part  of  my  residence  in  Paris  was 
Madame  Cinti  Damoreau.  This  lady  is  considered 
one  of  the  most  charming  sinojers  in  Europe,  pos- 
sessing a  fine  voice,  melodious  and  flexible,  and 
developing  at  times  extraordinary  power. 


250  PARIS. 

Madame  Dorus  Gras,  the  seconda  Donna,  is  a 
Flamande,  and  possesses  the  flaxen  hair  and  fair 
features  of  her  countrywomen.  "  Quel  dommage," 
I  once  heard  an  ebon-haired,  darli-eyed  French- 
woman remark,  "  Quel  dommage  que  Madame 
Dorus  a  la  chevelure  si  blonde  !  "  but  despite  "  le 
dommage  "  of  the  more  brilliant  brunette,  le  teint 
frais,  les  yeiix  bleus,  et  les  cheveux  blonds  of  Mad- 
ame Dorus  show  to  no  small  advantage,  were  it 
but  for  the  variety,  amid  the  dark  features  that 
flash  around  her.  The  soft,  liquid  quality  of  her 
voice,  with  its  birdlike  clearness,  constitutes  her 
a  most  pleasing  cantatrice,  although  neither  her 
power  nor  compass  is  at  all  extraordinary. 

The  last  that  I  shall  mention  is  Mademoiselle 
Falcon,  a  pupil  of  the  Conservatoire  of  Paris.  This 
young  lady  made  a  most  successful  debut  about  four 
or  five  years  since,  and  subsequently  to  that  period 
has  continued  to  rise  steadily  in  the  public  estima- 
tion. She  has  been  termed  the  hope  of  the  French 
Lyric  Opera.  Her  raven  hair,  her  dark,  flashing 
eyes,  and  Oriental  cast  of  countenance,  combine 
to  form,  in  aid  of  her  peculiar  powers,  a  rare  union 
of  physical  advantage  ;  and,  when  years  of  study 
shall  have  added  maturity  to  her  talent,  it  is  probable 
she  will  become  the  Pasta  of  the  French  Stage. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

The  Dance.  —  La  Revoke  au  S^rail.  —  Taglioni.  —  Duvernay.  — 
Fanny  Essler.  —  Augusta.  —  Male  Artistes.  —  Mazillier.  —  Mont- 
joie.  —  Penot.  —  Italian  Opera.  —  Rubini.  —  La  Somnanibula. — 
Its  Performance  here  and  in  Paris.  —  Lablache.  —  La  Prova  d'  un 
Opera  Seria.  —  Taniburini.  —  Bellini.  —  Malibran.  —  IvanhofF.  — 
Giulia  Grisi.  —  Her  Success  in  La  Norma.  —  Other  Ladies  of  the 
Opera.  —  Operas  most  in  Vogue.  —  Concluding  Remarks  on  the 
Opera. 

Having  now  concluded  our  remarks  upon  the 
Opera  and  its  distinguished  ornaments,  we  will 
take  a  glance  at  the  state  of  a  sister  art,  —  the 
graceful,  airy  danse. 

The  Ballets,  performing  at  the  Academic  Royale 
during  the  time  of  my  scjour  in  the  French  Capi- 
tal, were  severally  these ;  "  La  Revoke  au  Serail," 
"Nathalie,"  "La  Somnambule,"  "  Mars  et  Venus," 
"  La  Tempete,"  "  L'lle  des  Pirates,"  "  La  Syl- 
phide,"  besides  the  Ballet-Operas,  "  Le  Dieu  et 
la  Bayadere,"  and  "  La  Tentation."  The  most 
admired  of  the  regular  ballets,  were  La  Revolte, 
La  Tempete,  and  La  Sylphide.  In  the  first  and 
last.  Mademoiselle  Taglioni  appeared  ;  while  in  the 
Tempete  were  developed  the  graceful  action  of 
Duvernay,  and  the  unrivalled  brilliancy  of  Fanny 
Essler. 

The  ballet  of  "La  Revolte  au  Serail "  is  a  gor- 
geous Eastern  spectacle,  founded,  as  its  name 
imports,  upon  an  incident  of  revolt  from  their  ty- 


PARIS. 

rannical  despot,  among  the  fair  slaves  of  the  Sera- 
glio. The  insurrection  is  headed  byTaglioni,  who, 
bound  in  the  chains  of  mutual  attachment  with  the 
most  successful  soldier  of  the  empire,  Mazillier, 
has  scornfully  rejected  the  imperious  addresses 
of  her  new  and  despotic  admirer.  By  the  aid  of 
a  magic  rose,  the  gift  of  a  grateful  fairy,  whom,  in 
humble  guise,  she  had  befriended  and  screened 
from  punishment,  the  fair  leader  is  enabled  to 
change  her  companions'  lutes  to  bristling  spears. 
The  attendant  eunuch,  who  stands  aghast  at  the 
view  of  this  astounding  metamorphosis,  is  seized  by 
the  beauteous  rebels  and  bound  to  a  massive  pillar 
by  numerous  folds  of  a  silken  shawl.  This  done, 
the  fairy's  gift  throws  open  wide  the  ponderous 
iron  gates  of  the  Harem,  and,  the  retreat  thus 
secured,  —  closes  them  again  upon  the  enraged 
pursuers ;  the  fair  and  flying  troop  embark  in 
gilded  barges,  and  float  triumphantly  down  the 
sheeny  stream  that  laves  the  palace  walls.  An- 
other act  discovers  a  troop  of  Amazons,  with  the 
helmet  and  the  cuirass ;  the  spear  has  now  given 
place  to  the  more  effective  fusil.  It  is  the  dead  of 
night,  and,  dispersed  in  the  cheerless  bivouac  along 
that  mountain-defile,  the  wearied  soldiers  taste 
the  hard-earned  sweets  of  repose. 

The  expiring  fire  is  dimly  fading  in  the  embers  ; 
some  one  enters  that  silent  camp,  —  is  it  a  spy  ? 
With  noiseless  steps  he  approaches  the  recumbent 
leader  ;  his  hand  is  on  her  shoulder ;  she  springs  to 
her  feet,  and  grasps  the  ready  weapon.  It  is  her 
lover.    The  feelings  of  the  woman  are  stronger  than 


LA  REVOLTE  AU  SERAIL.  253 

those  of  the  soldier  ;  almost  unconsciously,  she  relin- 
quishes her  weapon  to  the  intruder,  when  ol"  a 
sudden,  at  the  loud  beat  ot  drum  and  shrill  cry  of 
clarion,  rise  from  their  slumbers,  the  startled  troop, 
and  stand  ready  for  combat.  The  opportune  gift  of 
the  fairy  preserves  them  in  the  hour  of  peril,  and 
the  Sultan,  unsuccessful  and  despairing,  dismisses 
an  envoy  with  offers  of  peace  on  conditions  most 
favorable  to  the  insurgents.  The  envoy  is  received 
in  state,  the  rebel  officers  hold  council,  and,  con- 
senting at  length  to  the  proposed  articles,  send  back 
the  ambassador,  escorted  by  a  detachment  of  the 
soldiery. 

At  this  point  of  the  drama,  the  rocky  mountain 
pass,  with  its  rugged  scenery,  is  suddenly  lost  to 
the  vision,  and  in  its  stead  appears  a  fairy  palace 
surrounded  by  delicious  gardens,  and  overlooking  a 
lovely  and  sun-lighted  landscape.  The  warm  tints 
of  an  Oriental  sky  impart  a  voluptuous,  mellow 
splendor  to  the  scene.  In  the  midst  of  her  shining 
company  is  seen  the  benevolent  fairy,  upon  whose 
head  burns  the  inextinguishable  emblematic  flame. 

The  troops  now  go  through  a  long  series  of  mili- 
tary evolutions,  and  put  in  practice  the  most 
favorite  manoeuvres  of  French  tactics.  The  cur- 
tain falls  at  length,  leaving  the  spectator  not  a 
little  pleased  with  the  fine  discipline  and  fasci- 
nating appearance  of  so  gallant  a  corps. 

The  piece,  however,  best  calculated  to  display 
the  graceful  talent  of  Taglioni,  and  the  one  in 
which  she  has  gained  her  proudest  laurels,  is  the 
beautiful  ballet  of  "  La  Sylphide."  In  person  Ta- 
glioni rather  exceeds  the  middle  height.    Her  figure 


254  PARIS. 

is  slender  and  not  remarkable  for  faultless  symme- 
try ;  a  well-turned  ancle  and  pretty  foot  terminates 
a  limb  of  admirable  contour  and  fine  muscular 
developement.  There  is  in  all  the  movements  of 
this  queen  of  the  danse,  an  indescribable  je  ne  sais 
qiioi,  that  seems  to  image  forth  the  very  poetry  of 
motion.  Possessing  apparently  less  specific  gravity 
than  others,  she  quits  the  grovelling  earth,  and, 
springing  sylph-like  into  the  air,  seems  ever  reluc° 
tant  to  descend. 

I  have  seen  her  clear  the  wide  stage  in  three 
lofty,  circling  bounds,  while  the  enraptured  specta- 
tors shook  the  .huge  house  with  their  deafening  and 
enthusiastic  plaudits.  Her  forte  is  not  the  rapid 
pirouette,  nor  dazzling  tour  de  force.  Montessu 
excels  her  in  agility,  and  Fanny  Essler  in  brilliancy 
of  execution  ;  but  these,  I  humbly  conceive,  are 
not  the  most  prominent  features  of  the  legitimate 
danse.  In  that  airy,  ineffable  gi^ace,  hovering  about 
each  motion,  and  fascinating  unconsciously  the 
sense,  she  is  unrivalled  and  alone.  Of  all  the 
artistes  at  the  Academic  Roy  ale,  Duvernay  most 
resembles  her  in  style.  This  celebrated  danseuse 
possesses  an  exterior  more  pleasing  than  that  of 
Taglioni.  In  person  she  is  tall  and  beautifully 
formed,  with  a  countenance,  whose  engaging  ex- 
pression and  fine  features  interest  and  charm.  Her 
action  is  in  the  highest  degree  harmonious,  happily 
embodying  those  nice  shades  of  meaning,  which 
even  language  finds  it  difficult  to  delineate.  In  the 
roles  of  Miranda  in  La  Tcntation,  and  that  of  Mi- 
randa in  La  Tempcte,  founded  on  Shakspeare's 
play,  she  has  no  superior. 


TAGLIONI.  —  FANNY  ESSLER.  265 

The  breath  of  scandal  has  not  snllied  the  purity 
of  Mademoiselle  Taglioni's  fame.  The  conjugal 
relation  she  some  years  since  formed,  proved  un- 
happy. Her  husband,  the  son  of  a  peer,  consumed 
her  ample  means  in  gambling  and  extravagance, 
and  found  at  length  a  lodging  in  St.  Pelagie. 
From  this  cause,  as  regards  pecuniary  prospects, 
she  has  been  compelled  to  commence  the  world 
anew,  and  her  present  splendid  engagement  at  St. 
Petersburg,  under  the  auspices  of  the  Czar,  will 
go  far  to  retrieve  the  losses  she  has  sustained. 

Fanny  Essler  is  of  a  school  totally  diverse  from 
that  which  boasts  the  above  distinguished  artistes. 
Her  style  is  of  the  rapid  and  brilliant.  She  posses- 
ses an  agreeable  countenance,  with  regular  features 
and  sparkling  eyes.  Her  figure  is  good  and  bien 
prise  pour  la  force.  Her  style  of  dancing  borrows  its 
principal  lustre  from  physical  ability.  Those  fairy, 
dreamy  motions,  through  which,  as  an  atmosphere, 
Taglioni  seems  ever  to  float,  belong  not  to  her. 

In  the  stately  minuet,  Fanny  Essler  would  make 
but  a  comparatively  poor  figure  ;  but  in  executing 
the  difficult  fantasia,  if  I  may  use  the  expression, 
of  a  pas  seiil,  where  she  can  display  the  swift 
wheel  of  the  pirouette,  with  the  Camilla-like  trip 
stir  les  pointes,  the  fair  German  is  not  to  be  sur- 
passed. A  brilliant  feature  in  her  style  is  the 
closing  tip-toe  pose,  where,  poised  with  arms  ex- 
tended, she  gracefully  acknowledges  for  a  moment 
the  plaudits  showered  upon  her,  and  then  descend- 
ing to  a  natural  position,  flits  away  like  a  sylph 
from  the  bewildered  gaze. 


256  PARIS. 

While  at  Paris,  I  also  witnessed  the  debut  of 
Madame  Augusta,  at  the  Academic  Roijale  ;  it  was, 
I  believe,  in  the  role  of  "  Fenella"  in  Auber's  Opera 
of  "  Massaniello."  Her  performance  of  it  was  ad- 
mirable and  effective.  Soon  after,  she  sustained 
the  ])rincipal  character  in  the  splendid  Ballet  of  the 
"  He  des  Pirates."  The  rank  held  by  this  lady  at 
the  finest  theatre  in  Europe,  will  fully  justify  her 
proud  claims  to  preeminence  elsewhere. 

At  the  time  I  saw  her  in  Paris,  she  was  more 
particularly  noted  as  an  actress,  although  her  danc- 
ing was  ever  graceful  and  appropriate.  During  the 
interval  between  that  period  and  her  appearance 
upon  our  boards,  she  has  made  great  improvement 
in  the  latter  branch  of  her  profession. 

In  remarking  upon  the  danse,  the  idea  of  the 
stronger  sex  is  scarce  suggested  to  the  mind.  That 
poetry  and  harmony  of  motion,  deprived  of  which, 
this  accomplishment  is  but  a  succession  of  meaning- 
less and  uninteresting  movements,  cannot  exist  in 
their  full  beauty,  apart  from  the  peculiar  grace  and 
delicacy  to  be  found  only  in  woman.  Impressed 
with  this  idea,  I  have,  while  on  the  subject  of  the 
ballet,  scarce  bestowed  a  thought  upon  the  male 
artistes  who  serve  also  to  compose  it.  Before 
quitting  the  theme  entirely,  however,  I  will  advert 
in  a  few  words  to  the  most  distinguished  of  them. 

At  the  time  of  my  residence  in  Paris,  Mazillier 
was  the  most  useful  man  in  this  department  of 
the  Academic  Royale,  not  as  a  danseur  exclusively, 
but  as  a  good  general  performer ;  various  and  ener- 
getic in  his  action,  animated  and    correct   in   his 


MONTJOIE.  —  PERROT.  —  ITALIAN  OPERA.  257 

gesture.  Montjoie  was  then,  and  had  long  been,  the 
hel  homme  of  the  ballet.  This  actor  always  ap- 
peared in  characters  of  dignity  and  importance, 
which,  from  the  nature  of  their  station,  would  be 
presumed  to  require  no  striking  display  of  agility ; 
in  such  roles,  for  instance,  as  the  Sultan  in  "  La 
Revoke,"  or  his  Infernal  Majesty  in  "  La  Tenta- 
tion,"  from  the  elegance  of  his  person,  and  a  cor- 
responding gracefulness  of  manner,  Montjoie  had 
no  equal. 

Of  the  regular  danseurs,  the  most  remarkable 
were  Perrot,  Mabile,  and  an  Italian,  Guerra.  Noth- 
ing could  exceed  the  easy  agility  of  Perrot,  and  he 
was  as  ugly  as  he  was  active.  "  C'est  blen  dom- 
mage,^^  said  a  Parisian  journal  du  spectacle,  "  que 
cet  artiste  a  un  sifacheux  exterieur  ;  "  but,  ugliness 
aside,  he  certainly  was  a  splendid  dancer.  I  never 
saw  any  thing  more  magnificent  in  its  way  than 
a  pas  de  deux  between  him  and  Mademoiselle 
Taglioni,  in  a  scene  of  the  "  Revoke."  Both 
exerted  themselves  to  the  utmost,  and  the  effect 
was  grander  than  any  thing  which  I  had  previously 
conceived  could  emanate  from  a  similar  source. 

Having  thus  hastily  sketched  the  more  promi- 
nent artists,  whether  in  the  Opera  or  the  Ballet, 
that  adorn  the  scene  of  the  Jlcademie  Royale, 
we  will  take  a  glance  at  the  sister  opera,  which 
boasts  the  enchanting  music  of  Italy.  The  artists, 
to  whom  this  music  is  confided,  are  all  of  the 
first  ability,  and  constitute  a  galaxy  of  talent  un- 
equalled on  the  European  continent.  The  gold 
of  France  and  England  has  bought  up  the  rarest 
33 


258  PARIS 

talent  of  Italy,  which  that  impoverished  country 
could  not  itself  adequately  maintain. 

There  is  Rubini,  whose  impassioned  notes  are 
the  admiration  of  the  musical  world.  Deep  pathos 
is  a  grand  characteristic  of  this  celebrated  singer ; 
his  thrilling  accents  pierce  the  very  soul.  An  ha- 
bitual melancholy  expression  of  countenance  renders 
his  affecting  passages  doubly  touching.  As  a  nat- 
ural result,  llubini's  forte  is  not  the  gay  and  bru- 
yante  music  which  distinguishes  the  composer  of 
Guillaume  Tell.  It  is  the  more  pensive  genius  of 
Bellini,  that  has  developed  the  wonderful  powers 
of  this  artist  to  their  fullest  extent. 

Among  the  various  operas  of  this  master,  in 
which  Rubini  appears,  my  individual  judgment 
would  prompt  me  to  select  La  Somnambida,  as  the 
one  affording  him  the  completest  triumph.  It  is 
here,  as  the  heart-broken  lover  of  Amina,  that 
Rubini  infuses  his  very  soul  into  the  passionate 
music  of  the  piece.  His  manner  of  rendering  the 
beautiful  aria,  "  Ah  !  perche  non  posso  odiarti  ?  " 
is  indescribably  touching.  So  perfectly  is  he  mas- 
ter of  the  music,  that  the  difficulty  of  the  piece, 
usually  sufficient  in  itself  to  engross  the  attention 
of  the  mediocre  singer  to  the  great  prejudice  of 
effect,  is  with  him  no  greater  obstacle  to  the  full 
and  entire  expression  of  it,  than  would  be  the  or- 
dinary tones  of  the  human  voice,  as  employed  in 
common  conversation.  Rubini  is,  unquestionably, 
the  only  tenor  in  Europe,  who  can  do  full  justice 
to  the  exquisite  melody  and  soul-stirring  pathos  of 
this  beautiful  air.     And  here  I  must  observe,  that, 


LA  SOMNAMBULA.  — LABLACHE.  259 

notwithstanding  the  great  and  deserved  success  of 
that  immortal  piece,  which  may  be  looked  upon  as 
the  most  pathetic  offspring  of  Bellini's  muse,  the 
American  audiences,  who  have  listened  with  a 
delight  ever-increasing  to  its  touching  strains,  can 
have  but  a  faint  idea  of  the  heightened  and  in- 
tense effect,  with  which  the  Opera  was  produced, 
under  the  immediate  eye  of  the  composer,  when 
the  several  parts  were  consigned  to  the  artists 
for  whom  they  were  written,  and  adapted  to 
the  peculiar  powers  of  each ;  the  whole,  too, 
accompanied  by  a  complete  and  admirably  con- 
ducted orchestra,  within  the  eloquent  compass  of 
whose  varied  tones  could  be  embodied  each  warm 
conception ;  whether,  in  full  resounding  volume,  it 
should  swell  onward  and  upward  to  the  sublime ; 
or,  led  on  by  imagination,  follow  in  the  light  train 
of  some  exquisite  fancy,  until  the  soft  notes  fade 
away  from  the  thrilled  senses  like  the  shadow  of  a 
dream. 

Next  comes  il  primo  basso,  Signor  Lablache. 
His  portly  figure  and  agreeable  visage,  replete 
with  humor,  enlist  your  judgment  in  his  favor  be- 
fore an  accent  escapes  his  lips  ;  —  but  hark  !  his 
mouth  opens,  and  there  rolls  forth,  from  the  im- 
mense amplitude  of  chest,  a  volume  of  sound,  that 
would  seem  to  threaten  all  other  sounds  with  an- 
nihilation. Not  only  has  Lablache  the  merit  of 
being  the  most  excellent  bass,  that  Italy,  and  par 
consequence  the  world,  can  boast ;  but  he  has  also 
been  termed  the  most  admirable  comedian  in  Eu- 
rope.    Of  all  the  pieces  in  which  I  have  seen  this 


260  PARIS. 

celebrated  artist,  that  entitled  La  Prova  (P  wn? 
Opera  Sena  is  best  adapted  to  display  his  rich 
comic  verve.  This  musical  sketch  shows  the  re- 
hearsal of  a  grand  opera  in  all  that  characteristic 
confusion,  in  which  rehearsals  delight.  At  length, 
order  being  in  some  degree  obtained,  and  a  few  of 
the  company  brought  together,  Lablache,  the  mae- 
stro commences  his  instructions  to  the  performers. 
The  prima  donna,  being  an  important  personage,  is 
unwilling  to  brook  the  dominant  manner  of  the 
maestro,  and  a  most  amusing  skirmish  ensues  be- 
tween them.  During  the  musical  encounter,  is 
given  the  admired  duett,  "  Ah,  qual  figura,"  in 
which  the  peculiarities  of  either  party  are  very 
happily  hit  oif.  This  at  length  adjusted,  the  primo 
tenore,  IvanhofF,  is  taken  to  task  for  an  alleged 
deficiency  in  energy  and  fire.  The  composer  gives 
him  a  passage  to  execute,  and,  thinking  the  voice 
quite  as  much  as  he  can  attend  to,  himself  takes 
charge  of  the  arms,  in  order  to  ensure  an  animated 
gesticulation.  The  singer  commences  and  goes 
through  the  passage,  while  the  arms,  under  the 
command  of  the  fiery  maestro,  likewise  perpetrate 
a  series  of  most  energetic  and  astounding  gestures. 
The  composer  is  delighted  at  the  improved  effect, 
and  the  audience  acknowledges  the  felicity  of  the 
conceptioa  by  peals  of  laughter  and  applause. 

But  the  most*  humorous  scene  in  the  piece  is 
that  in  which  the  composer  appears,  laden  with  a 
vast  collection  of  papers,, containing  the  overture  to 
his  opeVa.  These  he  proceeds  with  infinite  gravity 
to   bestow  upon    the  orchestra,  —  corno  primo,  — 


LA  PROVA  D'  UN'  OPERA  SERIA.  261 

corno  secondo,  —  and  off  goes  the  music,  circling 
through  the  air,  to  the  instruments  in  question,  — 
violino  primo,  trombone,  violino  secondo^  and  so  on, 
until  all  seem  supplied  ;  but  still,  as  the  shopmen 
say,  there  was  a  large  balance  on  hand,  which 
seemed  to  puzzle  the  worthy  maestro.  At  length 
it  occurs  to  him  how  to  dispose  of  them.  He 
throws  the  whole,  en  masse,  at  the  head  of  the 
musician,  whose  office  it  is  to  beat  music  from  the 
strained  parchment,  and  roars  out  in  a  voice  of 
thunder,  Grosse  caisse  f  (bass  drum.)  Thus  all 
arranged,  he  bids  them  strike  up,  and  straight 
the  ear  is  saluted  with  a  chaos  of  sound,  that 
would  drive  the  Goddess  of  Discord  herself  to 
despair.  It  most  effectually  discomposes  the 
nerves  of  the  composer,  who  rushes  about  the 
stage  like  a  chafed  lion,  scattering  the  subordinates 
in  every  direction.  Silence  is  at  last  restored, 
another  ineffectual  attempt  ensues,  and  another, 
until,  by  dint  of  constant  trial,  the  due  degree  of 
harmony  is  finally  attained,  and  Monsieur  "  L'Or- 
chestre  "  is  reinstated  in  the  good  graces  of  the 
maestro. 

The  piece  concludes  with  a  grand  musical  crash, 
in  which  every  voice,  on  its  highest  key,  is  pressed 
into  the  service ;  each  and  every  instrument 
squeaks,  brays,  and  bellows,  as  the  case  may  be, 
at  the  top  of  its  compass  ;  but,  above  the  terrific 
din,  rises  distinct  the  mighty  voice  of  Lablache, 
directing  the  whole.  The  curtain  veils  the  scene, 
and  I  for  one  quitted  the  house  much  better  pleas- 
ed (if  it  be  lawful  to  infringe  on  unity  of  time  and 


262  PARIS. 

place)  with  the  rehearsal  of  an  opera,  than  I  now 
expect  to  be,  for  a  long  period  of  time,  with  the 
regular  representation  of  one. 

Signor  Tamburini  is  another  of  the  virtuosi 
who  adorn  the  Italian  Opera.  His  finished  style 
and  brilliant  execution  have  procured  him,  with 
many,  the  proud  title  of  the  most  perfect  singer 
in  Europe.  Tamburini's  distinguishing  charac- 
teristic, is  his  wonderfully  rapid  vocalization.  His 
voice  runs  from  note  to  note  with  an  incredible 
celerity  ;  but  this  feature  of  his  style,  though  novel 
and  astonishing  in  a  bass  singer,  has  the  effect  of 
giving  to  his  theme  a  harsh,  rumbling  sound,  not 
unlike  that  of  distant  thunder,  and  very  dissimilar 
to  the  clear,  sonorous  depth  of  Lablache's  organ- 
like voice. 

Although  Tamburini  is  considered  a  thorough 
bass,  yet,  when  brought  into  immediate  competition 
with  Lablache,  his  voice  seems  but  a  barytone, 
and  is  lost  in  the  weighty  volume  of  the  other's 
tremendous  organ.  This  was  never  more  fully 
manifest,  than  in  the  rendering  of  that  magnificent, 
soul-stirring  duet,  which  set  the  seal  of  success 
to  Bellini's  immortal  composition,  /  Puritani.  I 
allude,  of  course,  to  the  famous  "  Suoni  la  trom- 
ba !  Intrepido,"  which  concludes  the  second  act  of 
the  piece. 

Tamburini  commenced  with  excellent  effect, 
when  Lablache  stepped  forward,  and,  like  Stentor 
of  old,  threw  in  a  volume  of  sound,  hushing,  as 
does  the  cannon's  roar,  all  else  to  silence.  The 
singers,    each    aware    that    this    was    the    turning 


I  PURITANI.  — BELLINI.  263 

point  of  the  piece,  and  a  pierre  de  touche^  to  show 
where  dwelt  superior  merit,  exerted  themselves  to 
the  utmost.  Its  effect  upon  the  enthusiastic  Par- 
isians was  magical ;  never  was  a  musical  morceau 
devoured  with  keener  relish. 

When  the  duet  was  over,  plaudits  shook  the 
crowded  salle  from  parterre  jusqii'aiix  quatriemes ; 
the  cries  of  "  Bis,  bis !''''  absolutely  rent  the  air;  it 
was  repeated,  and,  when  the  drop  scene  descended, 
Bellini,  by  the  unanimous  voice  of  the  enraptured 
audience,  was  called  forth,  to  receive  that  meed 
of  applause  so  grateful  to  sensitive  genius,  and 
which  at  Paris  is  ever  extended  to  encourage  suc- 
cessful talent.  From  that  moment,  the  new  Op- 
era became  the  rage,  and  the  laurel-wreathed 
composer  received  from  the  King  of  the  French 
those  honorary  insignia,  that,  in  the  eyes  of  the 
European,  far  outweigh  applause  or  treasure. 

Helas !  this  was  the  final  offering  of  the  youth- 
ful,—  the  lamented  Bellini.  Like  the  voice  of 
that  beautiful  bird,  whose  notes  are  sweetest  when 
expiring,  the  bright  flame  in  the  breast  of  Bel- 
lini, so  soon  to  be  quenched,  burned,  in  its  last 
prophetic  glare,  with  a  brilliancy  transcending 
aught  before. 

Paris  wept  when  Bellini  died,  and,  to  the  mu- 
sical world,  the  extinction  of  this  bright  star 
seemed  to  herald  another  irreparable  loss.  But  a 
few  months  more  were  numbered  with  the  past, 
when,  she,  —  the  bright  queen  of  song,  —  she,  to 
whose  grandeur  the  pensive  muse  of  Bellini  had 
so  much   contributed ;    she,    who  will    be  remem- 


264  PARIS. 

bered,  while  the  divine  strains  of  La  Somnambula, 
and  the  JVorma,  can  find  a  home  in  the  heart, 
the  incomparable  Malibran,  descended  mysteriously 
to  the  dark  tomb. 

But  we  have  digressed.  The  only  male  artist 
of  note  at  the  Italian  Opera,  who  remains  now  to 
be  spoken  of,  is  Ivanhoff,  a  Russian,  as  his  name 
plainly  purports.  His  debut,  some  few  years  since, 
was  very  successful,  and  he  was  much  talked  of 
at  the  time ;  but,  as  it  would  seem,  he  has  dis- 
appointed the  great  expectations  formed  of  him. 
This  artist  is  the  pupil  of  Rubini,  who  has  taken 
great  pains  to  perfect  his  musical  education ;  but 
the  eVeve  can  never  aspire  to  the  place  held  by  his 
master. 

Ivanhofif's  voice  is  a  tenor  of  great  sweetness, 
but  by  no  means  remarkable  for  power  or  pathos. 
His  best  role  is  that  of  Percy,  in  Donizetti's  opera 
of  Anna  Bolena.  In  this  part,  his  celebrated  aria, 
"  Vivi  tu,"  is  extremely  sweet  and  affecting,  and 
ever  received  with  loud  and  long  applause. 

We  will  now  advert  to  the  ladies  of  the  Opera, 
to  whom  gallantry  should  have  assigned  the  pri- 
ority ;  but,  on  the  correct  principle  of  reserving 
what  we  have  of  most  excellent  until  the  close  of 
the  seance,  I  have  thus  far  delayed  their  bright 
advent ;  and  first,  of  Giulia  Grisi.  That  name 
recalls  to  me  a  vision  of  flowing  tresses,  dark 
as  the  fathomless  gloom  of  night ;  of  the  clear 
olive  tint,  enriching  the  rounded  cheek ;  of  the 
dark,  languishing  eye,  bedewed  with  that  humid 
lustre,  poets  tell  us  it  is  dangerous  to  look  upon. 


LADIES   OF   THE   OPERA.  266  ' 

All   these,  and  more,   recur     to  the   mind    on  the 
mention  of  the  fascinating  prima  donna  of  Paris. 

Giulia  Grisi  is  at  once  a  beautiful  woman  and 
an  exquisite  singer.  In  the  high  queenly  roles, 
such  as  La  Semirarnide  and  ^nna  Bolena,  she  is 
really  magnificent.  The  crown,  whose  jewels 
blaze  upon  her  brow,  could  not  surmount  a  more 
imperial  front; — and  then  her  acting,  so  energetic, 
so  impassioned,  and  that  unreserved  abandon,  with 
which  she  lends  her  whole  soul  to  the  spirit  of 
the  scene  ;  —  with  what  intense  force  and  reality 
do  they  invest  the  startling  illusion !  And  then 
the  less  heroic  parts ;  —  take,  for  example,  the 
maid  she  personates  in  La  Gaz.za  Ladra,  (can 
this  be  the  lofty  Empress,  —  the  impassioned 
Queen  ?  )  —  how  beautiful  is  the  bird-like  carol, 
with  which  she  first  bounds  upon  the  stage ! 
Sure  that  finely-stringed  instrument,  an  Italian 
larynx,  never  did  vibrate  in  softer  music ;  the  very 
air  seems  redolent  of  harmony. 

The  character  of  "  La  Norma,"  in  Bellini's  op- 
era of  that  name,  seems  peculiarly  adapted  to  the 
fine  powers  of  Mademoiselle  Grisi.  The  rapt 
Pythoness,  where  the  dark  eye  dilates  with  the 
enthusiasm  inseparable  from  her  calling,  —  how  to 
the  life !  The  fearful  pangs  of  maddening  jeal- 
ousy at  the  more  than  suspected  infidelity  of  her 
lover,  goading  her  into  the  horrible  idea  of  destroy- 
ing the  infant  pledges  of  their  mutual  loves, —  with 
what  terrible  energy  are  they  depicted !  Like 
the  Italian  wife  in  Milman's  Fazio,  she  reveals  the 
secret  of  her  lover ;  she  acquaints  her  tribe  that 
34 


266  PARIS. 

he  is  a  Roman,  and  herself  takes  the  latal  knife, 
which  is  to  terminate  his  existence.  Pollio  bares 
his  bosom  to  receive  the  death-blow  from  the 
woman  he  has  loved.  She  falters.  The  intense 
fondness  she  once  bore  him  retmns  again  to  her 
breast ;  that  sacrificial  knife  drops  from  her  hand. 

The  druids,  assembled  around  to  witness  the 
welcome  sacrifice,  demand  an  explanation  of  the 
mystery.  She  now,  with  tears,  clings  about  her 
father's  knees,  and  implores  the  life  her  breath  has 
cast  away.  In  vain ;  the  stern  druid  is  relentless. 
But  she  can,  at  least,  share  his  fate,  — "  Son 
madre!^^  (I  am  a  mother!)  she  shrieks  aloud. 
Her  doom  is  sealed.  A  priestess  and  a  prophetess, 
enjoined,  on  penalty  of  death,  a  vestal  purity, — her 
blood  can  alone  wash  out  the  stain.  They  are  led 
to  their  punishment.  She  turns  to  Pollio,  with  a 
countenance  where  anxiety  and  anguish  have  given 
place  to  a  heavenly  smile,  and  exclaims,  "  Moria- 
mo  insieme  !  "  (Let  us  die  together  !)  The  scene 
is  indescribably  affecting. 

Beside  the  prima  donna,  there  are  other  ladies 
of  the  Italian  Opera,  deserving  of  mention.  Mad- 
ame Albertazzi,  from  the  Opera  at  Madrid,  and 
Signorina  Alessandri,  a  young  cantatrice,  of  much 
promise.  Mademoiselle  Amigo,  also,  has  a  very 
pretty  face  to  recommend  her,  but  is  not  distin- 
guished for  eminent  vocal  talent. 

The  operas  most  in  vogue,  at  the  time  of  my 
residence  in  Paris,  were  La  Strajiiera,  II  Pirata, 
La  Norma,  La  Somnamhula,  I  Puritani,  (Bellini,) 
Donnizeiti's  Jlnna  Bolena,  (a  favorite  role  of  Mad- 


CONCLUDING  REMARKS    ON    THE    OPERA.  267 

emoiselle  Grisi,)  La  Gazza  Ladra,  11  Barbiere, 
La  Semiramide,  Mosc  in  Egitto^  with  La  Cene- 
rentola,  by  Rossini. 

I  have  thus  dwelt,  at  considerable  length,  upon 
the  Opera,  for  the  reason  of  its  being,  at  the 
present  era,  the  most  prominent  feature  of  public 
amusement,  and  likewise  on  account  of  the  great 
degree  of  perfection  to  which  it  is  brought  in 
Paris,  —  being  universally  allowed  to  surpass 
any  other  in  the  civilized  world.  For  the  last 
century,  the  inhabitants  of  Paris  have  looked  upon 
the  Opera  with  pride,  as  going  far  to  make  good 
their  assumed  superiority  in  those  arts  and  ele- 
gances, which  mark  the  acme  of  civilization. 
"  C^est  un  pays  delicieux  que  V  Opera,  Monsieur,''^ 
said  a  French  gentleman  to  me,  in  the  course  of  a 
conversation  upon  the  subject.  It  is  hardly  nec- 
essary to  add,  that  I  awarded  a  cordial  assent  to 
the  axiom. 


CHAPTER   XX. 

The  Theati-e  Fran^ais.  —  Ligier.  —  Mademoiselle  Mars. — Madame 
Volnys.  —  Casimir  De  la  Vigne.  —  Don  Juan  d'Autriche.  —  Outline 
of  it.  —  Theatre  de  la  Porte  St.  Martin.  —  Mademoiselle  Georges. 
—  The  Gymnase.  —  Theatre  des  Vari6t6s  —  The  Vaudeville. — 
Other  Theatres  in  Paris.  —  The  Wandering  Jew.  —  The  Opera 
Comique.  —  Le  Pre  aux  Clercs. — The  Odeon. —  French  Fond- 
ness for  Theatrical  Exhibitions  and  Music. 

From  the  Opera,  let  us  turn  to  the  strong-hold 
of  the  Comedie  Frangaise,  where  developed  itself 
the  genius  of  a  Talma.  The  Theatre  Frangais 
is  not  now  what  it  was  during  the  life  of  that 
celebrated  actor.  Still,  it  is  interesting,  if  for 
nought  else,  from  its  being  the  sole  dramatic 
temple,  where  are  yet  listened  to,  the  immortal 
conceptions  of  Corneille,  the  graceful,  flowing 
verse  of  Racine,  the  pure  and  sparkling  wit  of 
Moliere.  Not  that  the  Comedie  Francaise,  even 
at  the  present  time,  is  shorn  of  all  its  brilliancy. 
It  has  yet  its  Ligier,  Mademoiselle  Mars,  Dorval, 
and  Volnys. 

Ligier  is  the  first  of  the  French  tragedians.  I 
do  not  recollect  of  ever  having  seen  a  more  ex- 
cellent actor.  His  voice  of  thunder,  and  speaking 
eye,  his  well-pointed  emphasis  and  clear  enun- 
ciation, with  an  energy,  that  can  kindle  to  resist- 
less fire,  yet  obeyeth  ever  to  the  sense, — justly 
entitle  him  to  the  rank    of  first  favorite  with  the 


LIGIER.  —  MADAME  DORVAL.  269 

Tragic  Muse.  How  different  is  the  combination 
I  have  mentioned,  from  the  tame,  spiritless  action, 
so  much  in  favor  upon  our  stage,  or  that  bel- 
lowing rant,  that  would  strive,  with  prodigal 
breath,  to  hide  a  paucity  of  intellect.  Of  Li- 
gier,  I  can  from  experience  say,  as  one  of  my 
friends  observed  to  me  respecting  Talma,  in  the 
whirlwind  of  a  passionate  scene  in  the  Oreste ; 
"  I  gazed,"  said  he,  "  until  an  icy  thrill,  such  as 
one  feels  in  the  immediate  anticipation  of  some 
terrible  event,  curdled  my  very  blood."  In  one 
particular  scene,  1  have  yet  a  most  forcible  re- 
membrance of  this  actor's  power,  conjoined  with 
that  of  Madame  Dorval,  to  the  full,  as  effective. 

The  plot  of  the  piece  was  analogous,  in  some 
respects,  to  that  of  a  melo-drama,  often  represent- 
ed upon  our  stage.  The  action  of  the  play  takes 
place  in  the  region  of  the  Moor,  where  the  soil 
stretches,  scorched  and  arid,  under  the  fervid 
kisses  of  a  tropical  sun.  The  principal  characters 
were  personated  by  Ligier  and  Madame  Dorval. 
They  are  lovers,  and  their  love  is  characterized 
by  an  intensity,  known  only  in  those  burning 
climes.  As  the  complicated  plot  approaches  to  a 
denouement,  a  fatal  light  breaks  in.  The  lovers, 
—  they  are  a  brother,  and  his  long  lost  sister, 
for  years  mourned  as  dead.  The  intense,  ab- 
sorbing horror,  which  seizes  the  hapless  pair,  gives 
birth  to  a  scene,  more  terribly  exciting  and  har- 
rowing in  its  nature,  than  aught  I  have  ever  wit- 
nessed, where  the  "mirror  is  held  up  to  Nature." 
The  feelings  are  strained  to  their  extremest   ten- 


270  PARIS. 

sion ;  the  eye  withdraws  itself  from  the  scene, 
and  involuntarily  seeks  the  countenances  of  those 
around ;  while  over  the  mind  there  creeps  the 
vague,  sickening  apprehension,  of  some  terrible 
catastrophe. 

Of  course,  however,  the  play  ends  well,  and  all 
seems  brighter,  from  the  deep  contrast.  The  in- 
fancy and  childhood  of  those  lovers  were  reared 
by  the  same  fostering  hand,  but  not  with  equal 
privilege  to  such  protecting  care.  Disinterested 
pity  for  the  one,  worked  the  kindly  office  that  ma- 
ternal love  suggested  for  the  other. 

Mademoiselle  Mars  is  the  pride  of  the  old 
French  comedy,  and  such  has  she  been  for  the 
last  thirty  years.  She  is  the  actress  of  the  Di- 
rectory, the  Consulate,  the  Empire,  as  well  as  of 
the  Bourbon  and  Orleans  dynasties.  Despite  her 
sixty  years,  she  is  yet  the  idol  of  those,  who  prize 
the  genuine  old  Comedy  ;  for  her  excellences  are 
those,  that  time  but  lightly  affects.  This  cele- 
brated aclrice  possesses  an  agreeable  countenance, 
with  rather  large  features.  Her  person  is  com- 
manding, with  a  tendency  to  embonpoint.  The 
great  charm  of  her  style  is  an  extreme  graceful- 
ness of  delivery  ;  her  sentences  are  given  in  a  voice 
of  silvery  sweetness,  and  clearest  enunciation ;  she 
abounds  not  in  gesticulation,  but  that  she  makes 
use  of  is  at  once  harmonious  and  expressive. 

In  the  petite  comedie  of  "  Valerie,"  where  she 
personates  the  heroine,  —  a  young  demoiselle  of 
nineteen,  and  beautifully  too,  —  I  have  heard  her 
recite  a  long  passage    from  the  dialogue,  in   that 


MADAME   VOLNYS.  271 

soft,  silvery  tone,  unaided  by  gesture,  and  without 
the  slightest  movement  from  the  spot  where  she 
stood ;  and  yet,  when  the  recital  was  terminated, 
long  and  bruijant  was  the  applause  that  greeted  it. 

Madame  Volnys,  who  made  her  dtbut  at  the 
Theatre  Francais,  some  three  years  since,  is  the 
lady,  who,  under  the  name  of  Leontine  Fay,  was 
so  much  admired  for  her  precocious  talent.  Pre- 
vious to  her  appearance  at  the  Comcclie  Franraise, 
she  had,  for  several  years,  been  the  principal  orna- 
ment of  the  Gymnase.  The  ci-devant  Leontine  is 
a  clever  actress,  and,  what  is  of  equally  great 
importance  for  success  in  Paris,  a  pretty  woman. 
Her  figure  is  tall  and  bien  prise,  her  hair  is  dark, 
and  her  eye  quick  and  brilliant.  Her  style  of 
acting  is  spirited,  and  at  times  pathetic ;  but  there 
is  an  admixture  of  affectation  throughout,  which 
steals  from  the  general  effect. 

The  works  of  the  old  French  dramatists  are  now 
seen  but  comparatively  seldom  upon  the  scene  of 
the  Theatre  Francais.  Public  taste  has  jDlaced  its 
stamp  of  popularity  upon  a  different  order  of  com- 
position. Casimir  De  la  Vigne  is  now  the  most 
successful  dramatist  of  the  Comedie  Franraise. 
His  play,  entitled  "  Don  Juan  d'Autriche,"  had  a 
prodigious  run,  and,  with  another,  "  Louis  Onze," 
that  enjoyed  nearly  a  similar  success,  proved  more 
attractive  than  any  thing  brought  out  at  this 
theatre,  during  my  long  stay  in  the  French  cap- 
ital. 

As  the  first  of  these  performances  met  with  such 
decided  success  before  the  most  fastidious  audience 


272  PARIS. 

in  Paris,  and,  we  might  say,  in  Europe,  perhaps 
it  may  not  prove  tiresome  to  the  reader  to  throw 
a  cursory  glance  over  its  more  prominent  inci- 
dents. 

Don  Juan  d'Autriche,  the  hero  of  the  play, 
is  the  younger  son  of  the  great  emperor,  Charles 
the  Fifth,  of  Germany,  and  brother  of  Philip,  king 
of  Spain.  From  his  infancy,  he  is  destined  for  a 
life  of  piety  and  monastic  seclusion ;  and  at  an 
early  age  is  consigned  to  the  care  of  one  well 
fitted,  in  the  opinion  of  his  royal  relatives,  to 
promote  such  holy  purpose.  But  Don  Juan,  who 
seems  intuitively  to  have  preferred  any  course  of 
life  to  the  one  destined  for  him,  contrives,  through 
the  assistance  of  the  menials,  to  deceive  his  in- 
dulgent and  credulous  governor,  and  at  last  plights 
his  troth  to  a  beautiful  girl  (personated  by  Mad- 
ame Volnys),  of  whose  Jewish  extraction  he  is  for 
a  long  time  left  in  ignorance. 

At  length,  Philip  of  Spain  comes  to  visit  his 
brother,  of  whose  progress  in  a  religious  education 
he  has  received  the  most  encouraging  accounts. 

The  brothers  have  an  interview,  in  the  progress 
of  which  the  monarch  questions  the  novice  with 
some  severity.  Don  Juan  is  here  taken  greatly 
at  disadvantage,  —  having  been  ever  sedulously 
kept  in  ignorance  of  his  noble  birth,  and  being,  in 
consequence,  totally  unconscious  of  the  relation- 
ship subsisting  between  him  and  that  stern  ques- 
tioner. 

Philip  is  not  a  little  surprised  at  the  entire 
absence  of  spirituality  from  the  conversation  of  an 


OUTLINE  OF   "  DON  JUAN  DAUTRICHE."  273 

eleve,  who,  lie  had  been  led  to  believe,  was  a 
paragon  of  enthusiastic  piety ;  and,  upon  his  ex- 
pressing himself  with  acrimony  on  the  subject, 
Don  Juan  at  once  throws  off  the  mask,  exclaiming, 
"  II  n'y  a  que  trois  choses  dans  le  monde  ;  la  guerre, 
la  chasse  et  les  femmes."  This  is  one  of  the  most 
effective  points  in  the  piece.  The  King,  aston- 
ished beyond  measure,  abruptly  concludes  the  in- 
terview. 

So  glaring  a  violation  of  the  spirit  of  the  Order 
was  not  to  be  overlooked ;  and  Don  Juan  is  sen- 
tenced to  expiate  his  offence  in  the  gloomy  silence 
of  a  monastery.  As  it  happens,  the  one  selected 
for  his  imprisonment  is  the  same  in  which  the 
conqueror  of  Pavia,  upon  his  abdication  of  the 
Germanic  throne,  had  retired,  a  voluntary  Exile. 
From  the  strong  family  resemblance,  aided  by  a 
variety  of  incidental  circumstances,  the  Imperial 
recluse  is  not  long  in  discovering,  in  that  young 
stranger,  the  son  of  his  old  age,  Don  Juan  d'Au- 
triche.  Forgetting  the  disappointment  of  his  origi- 
nal scheme,  the  Emperor  sees  with  delight  in  his 
son  the  traces  of  that  martial  spirit,  that  inspired 
his  ancestors ;  and,  as  a  friendly  token,  he  gives 
the  youth  the  sword  worn  by  himself  at  the  battle 
of  Pavia. 

Through  the  connivance  of  his  father,  and  the  as- 
sistance of  a  little  dependant  upon  the  convent,  — 
charmingly  personated  by  Mademoiselle  Anais, 
—  Don  Juan  is  enabled  to  escape  from  his  con- 
finement. 

After   passing  through  a  variety   of  scenes,  he 
35 


274  PARIS. 

is  at  length  brought  before  Philip,  to  be  judged 
for  his  misdeeds.  At  this  critical  juncture,  when 
the  fate  of  our  hero  hangs  upon  a  hair,  Charles 
the  Fifth  appears  in  the  Hall  of  Justice,  and,  by 
the  weight  of  his  paternal  authority  and  name, 
succeeds  in  reconciling  the  brothers. 

The  conclusion  of  the  piece,  as  regards  the  tie 
between  Don  Juan  and  the  lady  of  his  heart,  is 
truly  French.  Although  the  lover  originally  re- 
solved to  sacrifice  all  considerations  to  the  ardor 
of  his  passion,  yet  his  noble  birth,  the  commands  of 
the  superstitious  King,  and  the  general  tone  of  the 
age,  forbade  such  unequal  nuptials.  Don  Juan 
yields  to  the  force  of  circumstances,  and  the  un- 
happy lady  is  compelled  to  seek  a  husband  else- 
where. The  characters,  throughout  the  drama, 
are  well  sustained ;  that  of  Charles,  by  Ligier, 
cannot  be  too  much  praised. 

With  materials,  such  as  these,  has  Casimir  De 
la  Vigne  constructed  a  performance,  which  may 
be  regarded  as  the  most  successful  of  the  day. 

Leaving  the  Frangais,  we  will  now  take  a 
glance  at  the  Theatre  de  la  Porte  St.  Martin. 
This  is  the  chosen  resort  of  the  modern  French 
Tragedy,  —  the  tragedy  of  Victor  Hugo  and  his 
school. 

Mademoiselle  Georges  is  the  presiding  dispenser 
of  the  horrors  nightly  served  up  to  regale  the 
habitues  of  the  Porte  St.  Martin.  Her  forte  is 
deep  tragedy.  She  appears  to  advantage  in  Du- 
mas' celebrated  piece,  called  La  Tour  de  JVesle, 
in  Victor  Hugo's  Lucrcce  Borgia,  and  in  the  Fam- 


THEATRE  DE  LA  PORTE  ST.  MARTIN.  275 

ilk  Moronval.  In  these  effusions,  the  Tragic  Muse 
dons  her  robe  of  deepest  black;  each  scene 
breathes  of  treachery  and  murder ;  the  assassin's 
dagger  and  the  poisoned  bowl  are  the  rapid  and 
effective  machinery,  that  hurries  the  complicated 
drama  to  its  final  denouement. 

There  is  something  really  horrid  and  revolting 
to  the  feelings  in  each  of  the  three  pieces  men- 
tioned above,  and  yet  all  Paris  flocked  to  see 
them.  So  diseased  and  insatiate  is  the  appetite 
for  the  horrible,  that  even  the  writers,  who  essay 
to  feed  it,  seem  to  fear  only  that  the  alembic  of 
their  dark  imaginings  shall  distil  nought  sufficiently 
potent  to  appease  awhile  this  morbid  craving.  For 
many  years.  Mademoiselle  Georges  occupied,  as  tra- 
gedienne, a  position  second  to  none  upon  the  French 
stage.  At  present,  her  prodigious  size  interferes  with 
the  exhibition  of  that  energy,  for  which  she  was  for- 
merly remarkable  ;  yet  is  her  acting  ever  impres- 
sive, and,  at  times,  intensely  terrific.  Perhaps, 
however,  this  effect  may  result  as  much  from  the 
nature  of  the  pieces,  in  which  she  appears,  as  from 
any  individual  display  of  talent.  In  her  youth. 
Mademoiselle  Georges  is  said  to  have  been  emi- 
nently beautiful.  Report  has  made  her  the  favor- 
ite of  crowned  heads.  However  that  may  be,  she 
was  finally  banished  from  France,  by  Napoleon, 
and  found  a  refuge  and  protection  in  the  dominions 
of  Alexander. 

Happy  to  escape  from  the  ominous  Porte  St. 
Martin,  we  will  stroll  along  the  Boulevard,  and 
look  in  at  the    Gymnase,    (formerly  Theatre  Ma- 


276  PARIS. 

dame.)  This  neat  edifice  is  the  home  of  smiling 
Comedy,  and  the  spirituelle  vaudeville,  which  are 
admirably  sustained  by  the  united  talent  of  Paul^ 
Allan,  and  BouffS,  with  Mesdames  Eugenie  Sau- 
vage,  and  Allan  Despreaux,  whose  charming  nai- 
vete, and  languishing  blue  eyes,  ever  pleased  me 
quite  as  much  as  the  play.  The  Gymnase  is  well 
patronized  by  the  public,  and  is  decidedly  one  of 
the  most  delightful  theatres  in  Paris. 

The  Theatre  des  Varietes  holds  a  rank  one  grade 
below  that  of  the  Gymnase.  It  is,  as  the  name 
would  show,  dedicated  to  Variety.  An  evening 
passed  here  rarely  fails  to  afford  a  hearty  laugh- 
Yon  have  the  broad  y^rcewr  Odry,  Frederic  Lemai- 
tre,  (of  Robert  Maeaire  celebrity,)  and  the  inimi- 
table Vernet,  whom  I  should  place  at  the  head  of 
low  comedians.  There  is  a  richness  of  comic 
verve  about  Vernet,  that  is  perfectly  irresistible. 
In  the  female  department.  Mademoiselle  Jenny 
Colon  was,  until  a  year  or  two  past,  the  brightest 
star ;  but  this  fascinating  actress  aspired  to  opera, 
and  deserted  the  Varietes  for  the  Opera  Comique. 

The  Vaudeville,  situated  near  the  Palais  Royal, 
and  the  Rue  St.  Honore,  is  a  favorite  resort  for 
those,  who  are  fond  of  the  light,  piquant  style  of 
comedy,  from  which  this  theatre  derives  its  name. 
There  are  excellent  performers  at  the  Vaudeville, 
among  whom  must  be  particularly  designated, 
Arnal,  Lepeintre,  jeune  et  aine,  and  Lafont.  As 
regards  the  ladies,  there  are  Mademoiselle  Louise 
Mayer,  and  the  beautiful  Anais  Fargueil,  whose 
successful  debut  at  this  theatre,  I  had  the  pleasure 
of  witnessing. 


OTHER  THEATRES  IN   PARIS.  277 

The  above  theatres  are  the  most  frequented  of 
Paris.     Besides   these,  there  are   the   Theatre  du 
Palais    Royal,    the    Folies    Dramatiques,    Gaiete, 
Salle  Ventadour,  the  Ambigu  Comique,  the  Cirque 
Oljmpique,  and  several  others,  less  known  to  fame. 
The  "Ambigu  Comique"  is  no  misnomer;  it  cer- 
tainly is  a  most  ambiguously  comic  theatre.     Dur- 
ing my  stay  in  Paris,  there  was  a  piece  produced 
at  this  house,  entitled  Le  Juif  Errant,  which  met 
with   prodigious    success.     The  commencement  of 
the  drama  refers  back  to  the  earliest  dawn  of  the 
Christian  faith,   when  that  mysterious    personage, 
the  Wandering  Jew,   is  supposed  to  have  first  set 
out  on  his  endless  peregrinations.     From  that  early 
era,  he  is  conducted  through  a  long  succession  of 
scenes,  down    to    the  enlightened  reign    of   Louis 
Quinze,  and  is  seen  at  supper  with  the  king  and 
his    belle   maitresse,    la    Marquise  de   Pompadour, 
in    the  likeness  of  a  Count    St.   Germain,  whose 
eccentricities  and  supposed  extreme  longevity  cre- 
ated no  little  stir  at  that  period.     This  play  is  of 
a   nature,  which  could   scarce    exist  in  any  atmo- 
sphere, save   that  of  Paris ;   but  there,  for  an  im- 
mense number  of  nights,  its  consecutive  represent- 
ations attracted  crowded  audiences. 

I  have  alluded  to  this  extraordinary  drama,  the 
rather  as  it  affords  a  startling  evidence  of  the 
lukewarmness  of  public  feeling  in  the  French  capi- 
tal on  the  subject  of  religion,  than  for  any  intrinsic 
merit  in  the  composition,  or  aught  else. 

There  are  two  theatres,  of  which  I  have  not  yet 
made  mention.     These  are    the   Opera    Comique, 


278  PARIS. 

and  the  Odeon.  Respecting  the  former,  as  I  have 
already  treated  at  large  of  the  French  Opera,  but 
a  passing  notice  will  be  given.  The  Opera  Com- 
ique  is  situated  in  the  Rue  Vivienne,  nearly 
opposite  the  Bourse.  The  most  popular  music  at 
this  house  is  that  of  Boieldieu,  Herold,  and  Auber, 
as  represented  in  their  chefs-d'oeuvre,  —  La  Dame 
Blanche,  Le  Pre  aux  Clercs,  and  Fra  Diavolo. 
Le  Pre  aux  Clercs  is  exceedingly  admired  by  the 
Parisians.  When  the  opera  first  came  out,  it  was 
perfectly  what  is  termed  the  rage.  Every  boy  in 
the  street  was  whistling  snatches  of  its  lively  airs, 
while  at  all  the  concerts  and  balls,  the  bands 
drew  largely  upon  its  brilliant  overture,  and  played 
its  favorite  morceaux. 

The  price  demanded  for  admission  to  the  Opera 
Comique  is  greater  than  that  of  the  ordinary 
theatres,  being  seven  or  eight  francs  for  the  most 
select  places,  whereas  the  others  for  the  same 
demand  but  five. 

The  Odeon,  situated  near  the  Palace  of  the 
Luxembourg,  in  the  Fauxbourg  St.  Germain,  was 
formerly  more  frequented  by  the  beau  moiide,  than 
any  other  theatre  in  Paris ;  but,  in  proportion  as 
the  wealth  and  fashion  of  the  Capital  deserted  this 
vieux  quartier  de  la  ville,  for  the  Boulevard  and 
the  Chaussee  d'Antin,  did  the  Odeon  gradually 
decline  from  its  high  estate,  until  it  became  nearly 
out  of  date. 

This  large  theatre  is  now  closed  the  greater 
part  of  the  time.  Performances  were,  for  a  period, 
exhibited  there  by  the  company  of  the  Porte   St. 


FRENCH  FONDNESS  FOR  THEATRICALS.     279 

Martin,  but  the  speculation  failed  of  success.  One 
would  suppose  that  the  students  alone,  who  are 
said  to  abound  in  Paris  to  the  number  of  ten 
thousand,  would  be  sufficient  to  iill  it  nightly  ; 
but  the  Odeon  is  no  longer  a  fashionable  resort, 
and  people  will  not  go  where  it  is  not  the  mode. 
The  site  of  the  theatre  is  good  ;  standing  as  it 
does,  isolated,  in  the  centre  of  a  square.  Its  style 
of  architecture,  however,  and  general  appearance 
from  without,  are  too  heavy  and  sombre  for  a 
temple  devoted  to  the  Muses  ;  and  within,  although 
the  salle  is  spacious  and  well  constructed,  there  is 
but  little  of  that  airy  elegance  or  grace,  which  it 
would  seem  should  ever  cling  around  such  a  spot. 

Before  quitting  the  subject  of  theatres,  I  must 
advert  to  the  extreme  fondness,  which  the  French 
(particularly  the  middling  and  lower  classes  of 
society)  entertain  for  theatrical  exhibitions.  The 
grisette,  with  nought  but  the  light  cap  to  defend 
her  head  from  the  inclemencies  of  wind  and 
weather,  and  possessing  but  the  trifling  pittance  of 
her  thirty  sous  per  day,  would  expend  those  thirty 
sous  for  a  glance  at  some  favorite  spectacle. 

It  is  this  prevailing  taste,  which  must  account 
for  the  fact,  that  Paris,  with  a  population  not  ex- 
ceeding the  moiety  of  that  which  swarms  in  the 
British  metropolis,  supports  more  than  double  the 
number  of  theatres,  and  yet  the  system  of  starring 
is  comparatively  unknown  in  the  capital  of  France. 
What  the  minor  theatres  are  to  the  lower  classes, 
the  Opera  is  to  the  beau  monde,  —  one  of  the  ne- 
cessaries of  life.     A  loge,  or  seat,  at  the   Opera, 


280  PARIS. 

seems  as  much  an  indispensable  to  the  man  of  wealth 
and  taste,  in  Paris,  as  the  handsome  equipage,  in 
which  he  rolls  away  the  careless  hour,  or  the  well- 
furnished  hotel  of  his  residence. 

In  the  French  capital,  a  taste  for  Music,  as 
well  as  her  sister  fine  arts,  appears  to  spring, 
gushing  and  spontaneous,  from  the  warm  and  sus- 
ceptible temperament  of  the  people.  In  the  cap- 
ital of  England,  it  seems  forced  and  struggling  for 
the  frail  tenure  of  its  very  existence,  amid  the 
stern  prevailing  pursuits  that  environ  it.  At  Paris, 
it  appears  to  flourish,  bright  and  full  of  life,  upon 
a  natal  soil.  In  London,  it  is  the  rare  exotic ;  — 
but  the  latter  city  is,  at  least,  fortunate  in  posses- 
sing the  golden  means  to  encourage  and  maintain 
such  an  expensive  hot-house  growth.  I  shall  now 
put  a  period  to  my  lengthened  remarks  on  the 
dramatic  amusements  of  the  French  metropolis, 
and  bid  a  final  adieu  to  the  theatres  of  Paris. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

Parisian  Cafes.  —  Hotels.  —  Manner  of  Living.  —  La  Vie  en  Garden. 

—  Breakfasting  Houses.  —  The  Cafe  Veron.  — Tlie  Cafe  d'Orleans. 

—  Remarks  on  Cafes. —  Cafe  Tortoni.  —  Its  Ices  and  Liqueurs. — 
The  Cafe  Anglais.  —  The  Count. —  Portrait  of  an  Eccentric  Gen- 
tleman. —  Breakfasts.  —  The  Cafe  Estaminet.  —  Billiards.  —  Eu- 
gine.  —  Glance  at  the  Restaurants.  —  The  Rocher  de  Cancale.  — 
Very's  Restaurant.  —  The  Viandes.  —  Details  of  a  Parisian  Dinner. 

—  The  French  Volailie.  —  Wines. 

The  Cafes  and  Restaurants  of  Paris  form  one 
of  the  most  reniarkable  features  of  the  city.  They 
are  exceedingly  numerous  and  elegant.  At  first 
sight,  the  stranger  would  deem  it  impossible,  that 
so  vast  a  number  could  receive  any  thing  like  an 
adequate  support ;  but  a  brief  stay  in  the  Capital, 
and  the  information  it  will  bring  with  it  of  the 
manners  and  customs  of  the  Parisians,  must  speed- 
ily convince  him  to  the  contrary. 

The  hotels  in  Paris  are  widely  dissimilar  from 
those  of  England,  or  our  own  country.  A  visiter 
arrives  in  the  metropolis,  selects  his  hotel,  and 
engages  his  room  by  the  day  or  month.  He  is 
not  necessarily  expected  to  take  his  meals  in  the 
house  ;  that  is  entirely  at  his  option.  If  he  break- 
fasts or  dines  at  his  hotel,  charges  are  made  for 
each  individual  time ;  if  not,  he  pays  but  for  his 
apartment.  Frequently,  the  restaurant  is  quite  a 
separate  branch  from  the  hotel  it  supplies,  and  their 
36 


282  PARIS. 

accounts  are  sent  jou  separately,  as  is  the  case 
with  the  Hotel  des  Princes. 

The  more  usual  way  for  one  new  to  Paris,  and 
consequently  desirous  of  seeing  all  that  is  to  be 
seen,  is  to  take  rooms  at  an  hotel,  or  maison 
meublee,  and  obtain  his  meals  at  the  various  cafes 
or  restaurants,  as  fancy  may  dictate.  What  is 
there  termed  "  la  vie  en  gargon^'''^  is  the  most  un- 
shackled mode  of  life  possible,  and  one  to  which 
the  Frenchman  is  extremely  partial.  Any  of  the 
numerous  maisons  garnies  will  furnish  him  lodg- 
ings at  a  reasonable  rate.  Nothing  is  known, 
asked,  or  required,  save  the  forthcoming  of  the 
monthly  stipend,  that  discharges  all  obligation. 

The  garron,  if  his  means  counsel  him  economy, 
takes  his  simple  dejeuner  of  coffee  and  a  roll,  for 
twelve  or  fifteen  sous,  and  dines  well  enough  on 
three  dishes  and  half  a  bottle  of  wine,  for  double 
that  sum  at  the  "  restaurant  a  trente  sous."  If, 
on  the  contrary,  income  and  inclination  advise  him 
to  more  extended  epicureanism,  the  luxury  of  a 
dejeuner  a  la  foiirchette,  with  the  columns  of  the 
"  Moniteur  "  or  "  Journal  des  Debats,"  will  claim 
an  hour  or  two  of  his  mornings. 

From  this  mode  of  life,  practised  by  an  immense 
proportion  of  the  Parisians,  it  is  that  the  cafes  and 
restaurants,  seemingly  so  redundant  in  number, 
derive  an  adequate,  and,  indeed,  an  ample  support. 
The  most  elegant  breakfasting-houses  in  Paris 
are,  in  my  opinion,  the  Cafe  Veron,  on  the  Boule- 
vard, and  the  Cafe  d'Orleans,  in  the  Passage 
d'Orleans  of  the  Palais  Royal.     The  first  of  these 


REMARKS  ON  THE   CAF^S.  283 

possesses  a  most  eligible  and  central  situation.  Its 
various  doors  open  on  three  sides,  upon  the  Rue 
Vivicnne,  the  Boulevard,  and  the  Passage  Pano- 
rama. 

Enter  the  cafe,  and  you  are  struck  with  its 
richness  and  beauty.  The  entire  apartment  is 
brilliant  with  costly  mirrors,  and  the  walls  and 
ceiling  are  tastefully  decorated  with  rich  fancy- 
work,  intermingled  with  well-executed  designs, 
in  keeping  with  the  character  of  the  place. 

The  Cafe  Veron  is  a  favorite  breakfasting-house 
with  the  English  and  Americans,  particularly  the 
latter.  Every  thing  is  served  up  here  in  the  neat- 
est style ;  there  is  something  attractive  in  the 
appearance  of  the  very  garcon,  with  his  becom- 
ing jacket  of  blue  cloth,  and  the  snowy  length 
of  his  spotless  apron,  descending  to  the  feet. 
There  is,  I  say,  a  something  of  attractive  in  the 
exterior  of  this  important  personage,  as,  in  answer 
to  your  call  for  cafe  au  lait,  he  glides  noiselessly 
to  your  table.  A  ponderous  vessel  employs  either 
hand.  From  one  of  these  he  pours  the  aromatic 
liquor  into  the  snowy  porcelain,  —  from  the  other, 
he  tempers  its  strength  to  the  just  degree.  The 
coffee  and  milk  are  mingled,  in  nearly  equal  quan- 
tities, to  form  the  delicious  beverage  that  is  send- 
ing upward  its  fragrant  odor  before  you. 

The  Cafe  d'Orleans  is  not  inferior,  in  size  or 
richness  of  decoration,  to  the  one  we  have  just 
been  describing,  and  both  are  managed  upon  the 
same  principle. 

These  cafes  are  licensed  to  accommodate  their 


284  PARIS. 

patrons  with  simple  breakfasts,  such  as  tea,  coffee, 
rolls,  &c.,  and  the  more  various  dejeuner  a  la 
fourchette,  which,  in  fact,  differs  but  in  the  name 
from  our  dinners.  They  possess  not,  however, 
the  high  privilege  accorded  only  to  the  restaurants, 
of  exhibiting  that  triumph  of  gastronomy,  a  true 
French  diner.  The  better  class  of  cafes  are  ever 
well  stocked  with  wines  and  liqueurs;  but,  setting 
aside  the  staples  of  coffee  and  tea,  the  more  le- 
gitimate drinks  at  these  resorts  are  limonadCj 
groseille,  orgeat,  and  the  bavaroise.  During  the 
season  of  summer,  the  cafes  derive  great  profit 
from  the  sale  of  ices,  in  all  their  Protean  forms, 
from  the  mild  and  soothing  vanille,  to  the  anoma- 
lous ponche  a  la  Romaine. 

While  on  the  subject  of  ices,  I  must  not  forget 
Tortoni.  Everybody  has  heard  of  Tortoni ;  his 
name  lives  in  the  storied  page,  as  well  as  in  the 
palates  of  his  grateful  countrymen. 

The  original  Tortoni  is  no  more  ;  his  ashes  have 
long  since  been  blended  with  their  parent  dust; 
but  he  has  left  to  posterity  the  legacy  of  his  name, 
and  that  can  never  die.  Tortoni's  is  the  head- 
quarters of  the  ice,  and  its  antipodes,  the  liqueur. 
Nowhere  is  the  maraschino  more  beautifully  limpid, 
or  the  sunny  eau  de  vie  de  Dantzic  more  glitter- 
ing in  its  golden  suspension,  than  with  him  ;  but  it 
is  the  ice,  which  has  more  particularly  established 
his  undying  renown. 

I  cannot  forget  how  delightful  it  was,  of  a  warm 
summer's  eve,  when  all  Paris  seemed  pouring 
along    the   thronged   Boulevard,  —  to   steal    from 


TORTONI.  — THE   CAFE  ANGLAIS.  285 

the  animated  scene,  and  while  away  the  careless 
hour  at  Tortoni's. 

Entering  the  cafe,  you  ascend  the  staircase,  that 
conducts  to  the  principal  saloon.  There,  seating 
yourself  by  an  open  window,  you  hail  the  waiter 
with,  —  "  Gargon,  donnez-moi  la  carte  des  glaces.^^ 
The  well-furnished  carte  is  brought;  there  are 
vanilky  /raise,  framboise,  pistache,  and  every  other 
ice,  which  hath  a  name.  You  make  your  selec- 
tion, and  straight  appears  the  object  of  your 
choice,  in  the  graceful  pyramid  of  red,  green,  or 
white  ;  or,  if  such  be  your  fancy,  an  admixture  of 
the  three.  There  you  sit,  and  sip  the  melting 
pleasure.  The  gay  saloon  is,  perhaps,  filled  with 
well-dressed  personages,  intent  upon  the  same 
agreeable  occupation  with  yourself;  the  hum  of 
merriment  and  life,  from  the  busy  scene  below, 
falls  pleasantly  on  the  ear;  the  balmy  breathing 
of  the  air  invites  the  steeped  senses  to  sweet 
oblivion. 

Oh !  Souvenirs  de  Paris !  que  vous  etes  de- 
licieux ! 

In  adverting  to  the  leading  cafes  of  Paris,  I  must 
not  neglect  to  mention  one,  which,  though  modest 
and  unobtrusive,  in  its  appearance,  is  yet  much 
celebrated  for  its  substantial  comforts  and  ex- 
cellent cuisine,  —  I  mean  the  Cafe  Anglais.  This 
establishment,  which  unites  the  cafe  and  the  res- 
taurant, has  but  little  gaud  or  glitter  to  recom- 
mend it.  The  only  ornament  it  possesses,  is  the 
indispensable  mirror,  which,  in  Paris,  may  be 
reckoned  among  the  necessaries  of  life ;  —  but  I 


286  PARIS. 

look  upon  it  as  the  best  breakfasting-house  in 
the  city.  Nowhere  are  the  peculiar  excellences 
of  the  dejeuner  a  la  fourchette  more  happily  dis- 
played, than  at  the  Cafe  Anglais.  You  may  call 
for  a  bif-teck  aux  pommes  de  terre,  or  rognons  a 
la  brochette,  or  the  modest  coulelette  a  la  jardi- 
niere, and  all  will  be  served  up  (to  avail  ourselves 
of  a  convenient  Gallicism)  in  a  manner  that  leaves 
nothing  to  desire.  The  wines,  also,  at  this  cafe, 
are  noted  for  their  excellent  quality. 

The  Cafe  Anglais  enjoys  —  the  surest  mark  of 
excellence  —  an  extensive  patronage  from  the  true 
connoisseurs  of  gastronomy,  who  are  willing  to 
forego  the  glitter,  in  possessing  the  substance. 

Every  one,  who  resided  any  time  in  Paris 
during  the  years  1835,  1836,  will  recollect  among 
the  habitues  of  this  establishment,  a  gentleman  of 
most  singular  appearance  and  eccentric  habits. 
He  sustained,  1  believe,  the  rank  of  Count,  and 
was  a  gentleman,  by  education  as  well  as  birth. 
He  conversed  fluently  in  several  languages,  speak- 
ing English  particularly  well.  He  had  travelled 
over  almost  every  portion  of  the  civilized  world, 
and  collected  a  varied  and  extensive  mass  of  in- 
formation ;  but  that  sensitive  and  elegant  mind  had 
fallen  a  prey  to  some  master  sorrow,  that  had 
left  but  its  noble  wreck.  Every  one,  who  has 
seen  him,  will  recognise  the  portrait. 

He  was  somewhat  advanced  in  years.  His  eyes 
w^ere  piercing  and  coal-black ;  his  face  begrimed 
with  snuff,  which  he  made  use  of  in  large  quan- 
tities.    The    chin,   upper  lip,    and   whole   contour 


PORTRAIT   OF   AN    ECCEiNTRIC   GENTLEMAN.      287 

of  the  visage,  were  clad  in  a  growth  of  hair,  that 
would  have  put  to  shame  the  Bearded  Man  of 
Versailles.  The  costume,  also,  of  this  unfortunate 
gentleman  bore  the  impress  of  extreme  antiquity 
and  indifferent  usage. 

If  you  chanced  to  enter  the  cafe  at  a  late  hour 
of  the  morning,  you  were  sure  of  finding  the  Count 
seated  at  a  table,  in  the  further  apartment,  with  at 
least  five  or  six  cups  of  coffee  before  him,  engaged 
in  writing,  or  in  conversation.  Here  he  would  re- 
main for  hours,  until  the  day  was  well  advanced. 
In  the  evening,  he  was  almost  invariably  to  be 
seen  at  the  Porte  St.  Martin ;  and,  after  the  the- 
atre was  closed,  he  always  returned  to  the  Cafe 
Anglais,  and  remained  there  until  three  or  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning. 

One  evening,  at  the  Odeon,  when  that  theatre 
was  temporarily  opened  by  the  director  of  the 
Porte  St.  Martin,  at  the  conclusion  of  an  act,  a 
gentleman  stepped  out  of  the  avant-scene  (pro- 
scenium), and  quietly  remarking  to  the  audience, 
"  Messieurs,  je  vous  prie  pardon,  mais  chst  un 
pari,''"'  marched  across  the  stage,  and  entered 
the  body  of  the  house  by  the  opposite  loge.  It 
was  the  Count.  The  spectators,  who  were  prin- 
cipally students,  hailed  the  feat  as  a  capital  joke, 
and  honored  it  with  several  hearty  rounds  of  ap- 
plause. 

Yet,  with  all  his  eccentricities,  was  the  Count 
an  agreeable  and  an  interesting  man.  With  our 
little  coterie  of  Americans,  who  had  nought  to  do, 
in  Paris,  but   ring  the  changes   on   the   dolce  far 


288  PARIS. 

niente,  he  speedily  became  quite  a  favorite ;  and 
we  seldom  met  him,  over  his  cofifee,  or  at  the 
spectacle,  without  exchanging  the  phrase  of  civility 
and  kindness ;  and  it  is  rather  for  the  sake  of 
recalling  the  image  of  their  old  friend,  to  the 
memory  of  those,  who  knew  him  at  the  same 
period  with  myself,  than  for  any  other  purpose, 
that  I  have  been  led  into  a  digression,  the  unin- 
teresting nature  of  which,  I  can  only  hope,  that  the 
general  reader,  in  consideration  of  its  brevity,  will 
courteously  pass  over  and  excuse. 

I  have  said  that  the  Cafe  Anglais  is  unsurpassed 
in  the  happy  combinations  of  its  dejeuner  a  la 
fourchette.  The  hour  of  taking  this  important 
meal  cannot  be  strictly  assigned  ;  it  varies  with 
the  varying  temperament  of  its  votaries.  The 
earliest  legitimate  point  of  time  is  nine  o'clock, 
and  the  latest,  three.  The  mean  between  these 
hours  is  the  most  common ;  but  the  cafes  are 
always  prepared  to  serve  up  breakfasts  at  instant 
notice,  between  the  extremes  I  have  mentioned 
as  the  lines  of  legitimate  demarcation.  Coming 
before  the  first,  you  encroach  upon  the  province 
of  the  broom  and  dust-cloth ;  after  the  latter,  you 
find  the  garcon  abstracted ;  his  mind  is  away 
from  the  subject  upon  which  you  are  addressing 
him,  —  it  is  dwelling  on  affairs  of  greater  moment. 
Dinner,  with  its  splendid  confusion  of  entrees, 
entremets,  and  hors-d^auvres,  is  engrossing  his 
sentient  powers,  and  it  were  your  better  course 
to  leave  him  alone. 

At  the  tables  d^hote,  breakfast  is  usually  served 


THE  CAFE    i:STAMlJ\ET.  289 

up  at  ten,  or  half  past  ten  o'clock ;  but  the  bour- 
geois qui  tient  maison  generally  delays  it  until  near 
noon,  taking  merely  a  cup  of  coffee  upon  rising, 
by  way  of  a  palliative  until  the  dejeHner. 

At  first,  I  must  confess,  this  practice  of  break- 
fasting at  eleven  or  twelve  o'clock  seemed  to  me 
as  conflicting  with  every  correct  principle  of  taste  ; 
but,  by  degrees  (so  imitative  are  we),  I  became 
less  and  less  alive  to  the  unseasonableness  of  the 
hour,  until  finally,  if  I  remember  me  aright,  it 
began  to  appear  to  me  quite  comme  ilfaiit. 

Nearly  all  the  elegant  cafes  of  Paris  are  con- 
gregated on  the  Boulevards,  more  particularly  in 
the  vicinity  of  the  Rue  Richelieu  and  Rue  Vivienne, 
and  in  the  ample  enclosure  of  the  Palais  Royal. 
The  most  noted  here,  beside  the  Cafe  d'Orleans, 
already  alluded  to,  are  the  Cafes  Foy  and  Corazza. 
The  former  is  much  celebrated  for  the  excellence 
of  its  coffee. 

There  is  yet  another  branch  of  the  Parisian  c«/e, 
that  remains  to  be  considered.  It  is  that  termed 
estaminct.  The  most  extensive  establishment  of 
this  nature  in  Paris  is  on  the  Boulevard  des  Italiens, 
in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  the  Italian  Opera 
House.  The  words,  in  prodigious  letters,  — 
*'  Cafe  Estaminet  a  quatre  billards  au  premier," 
convey  all  the  necessary  information.  You  as- 
cend the  staircase,  and  enter  the  spacious  room. 
Immediately  on  the  right  of  the  door,  in  a  large 
case,  and  secured  from  accident  by  an  interposition 
of  net-work,  are  seen,  marshalled  in  close  order, 
a  formidable  phalanx  of  pipes,  the  property  of  the 
37 


290  PARIS. 

habitues ;  the  atmosphere  of  the  room  is  cloudy 
enough  to  irritate  the  lungs  of  a  Dutchman.  The 
staples  here,  are  pipes,  beer,  and  billiard-balls ;  a 
trio  that  confer  the  distinctive  appellation,  "  Esta- 
minet." 

The  French  are  exceedingly  fond  of  billiards, 
and  devote  much  time  to  the  game.  The  most 
skilful  player  I  have  ever  seen,  was  a  young 
Frenchman,  named  Engine  ;  the  extraordinary 
calculation  and  wonderful  execution,  which  his 
jeu  ever  displayed,  could  not  be  considered  as 
acquired  ;  it  must  have  been  an  unconscious  and 
innate  talent,  as  was  music  to  Mozart,  or  poesy 
to  Lord  Byron. 

The  expense  attending  billiard-playing,  in  Paris, 
is  but  trilling.  During  the  day,  a  table  may  be 
taken,  by  the  hour,  for  twelve  or  fifteen  sous ;  at 
night,  when  the  room  is  lighted,  a  larger  sum  is 
demanded.  One  reason,  that  may  be  assigned  for 
the  moderate  expense  attending  this  species  of 
amusement  in  France,  is,  that  there  the  billiard- 
table  is  but  a  department  of  an  extensive  establish- 
ment, instead  of  being,  as  is  frequent  with  us,  the 
entire  stock  in  trade. 

The  game  is  played  with  three  balls,  and  the 
great  object  of  the  player  is  the  carambolage.  In 
holing  a  ball,  the  cushion  must  be  first  taken ; 
that  is,  the  ball  must  be  doubled,  or  the  party 
does  not  score.  The  game,  thus  refined  down, 
becomes  a  mathematical  study.  It  is  really  in- 
teresting to  watch  a  first-rate  player,  —  Engine, 
for  example,  and  observe  the  wonderful  accuracy 


THE  RESTAURANTS  IN  PARIS.  291 

of  that  judgment,  which  directs  the  ball  from  angle 
to  angle,  until  it  meets  the  object  of  its  seemingly 
sentient  search.  The  spectator  regards  with  sur- 
prise and  admiration  those  brilliant  effeis  de  queue, 
which  appear  in  his  play,  causing  the  ball,  now  to 
rebound  from  the  bande  in  defiance  of  every  legiti- 
mate angle,  now  to  describe  those  unexpected 
curves  that  denote  the  most  finished  execution  and 
correctness  of  design. 

The  Estaminet  is,  indeed,  a  singular  compound. 
At  this  table  are  persons  engaged  at  ecarte ; 
with  those  assembled  around  the  next,  the  simpler 
domino  is  the  resource.  If  it  be  a  pleasant  eve- 
ning, and  you  can  abide  a  half  hour,  it  is  probable 
the  voice  of  music  will  be  added  to  the  scene  ;  but 
look !  the  door  opens,  and  there  enters  a  young 
girl,  of  interesting  appearance,  the  paleness  of 
whose  cheek  tells  plainly,  that  the  wandering  and 
exposed  life  of  the  minstrel  accords  but  ill  with  the 
delicacy  of  her  frame.  Pursuing  her  steps,  appears 
the  attendant,  with  a  violin  and  harp.  They 
strike  the  prelude  ;  the  young  girl  sings,  and  ac- 
companies herself  on  the  harp.  When  the  air  is 
finished,  the  man  passes  round  a  little  tin  case, 
into  which  are  dropped  the  few  and  scattering 
sous.  Such  is  the  picture  of  a  Parisian  cafe  es- 
taminet. 

Having  now  satisfied  our  curiosity  by  taking 
the  rounds  of  the  principal  cafes,  let  us  look  in, 
with  what  appetite  we  may,  upon  such  of  the 
restaurants  as  are  most  known  to  fame. 

The    most    celebrated    of    these    in    Paris    are 


292  PARIS. 

Very's,  Vefour's,  Perigorcl,  and  the  Trois  Freres 
Proven^aux,  in  the  Palais  Royal,  Grignon's,  the 
Rocher  de  Cancale,  the  Cafe  de  Paris,  and  the 
Grand  Vatel.  Very's  and  Vefour's  are  considered 
the  most  magnificent,  though  the  lofty  salons  and 
splendid  mirrors  of  the  Cafe  de  Paris  might,  in 
the  estimation  of  some,  dispute  such  precedence. 

The  Rocher  de  Cancale  exijoys  much  celebrity, 
from  the  superior  excellence  of  its  poissonerie, 
and  more  particularly  its  oysters,  &c.,  whence  the 
name  it  has  assumed,  —  Rocher  de  Cancale.* 
There  is  but  little  external  elegance  or  style  about 
this  establishment.  The  Rocher  is  an  excellent 
house  for  a  diner  en  societe.  You  should  bespeak 
the  dinner  beforehand,  and,  upon  arriving,  the 
dishes  will  be  served  up  at  instant  notice  and  in 
admirable  style.  The  cabinet  particulier^  into 
which  you  are  usually  ushered,  is  neat,  though 
not  over  large.  It  is  pretty  well  removed  from 
the  coffee-room,  so  as  to  give  you  full  opportunity 
of  "  ganging  your  own  gait,"  without  annoyance 
to  those,  who  may  chance  to  be  below. 

I  must  confess,  one  great  charm  of  the  Rocher 
is,  the  perfect  laisser  aller  of  the  place.  You  may 
shut  yourself  up  in  your  cabinet,  and  make  as 
much  noise  as  liketh  you ;  and  no  one  says  nay, 
or  enters  with  rueful  countenance,  and  a  long  tale 
about  the  people  in  the  next  room  ;  par  conse- 
quence, for  such  parties  as  Pelham  so  inimitably 
describes,  where  leaps  from   mouth  to   mouth   the 

*  A  rock,  of  shell-fish  celebrity. 


VERY'S,  IN  THE  PALAIS  ROYAL  293 

poignant  jest,  and  rosy  conviviality  holds  the 
sceptre,  —  there  is  no  place  like  the  Rocher. 

Grignon's  is  celebrated  for  the  excellent  quality 
of  its  Burgundy,  the  old  Chambertin,  and  Clos  de 
Vougeot.  The  comfortable,  Bacchus-like  appear- 
ance of  the  butler,  who  places  it  before  you,  is  of 
itself  no  bad  passport  in  favor  of  the  generous 
wines,  whose  flowery  odor  he  inspires. 

To  my  mind,  however,  Vcry's  is  by  far  the 
most  elegant  of  the  Parisian  restaurants.  Upon 
entering  the  saloon,  you  might,  at  first  glance, 
imagine  yourself  introduced  into  one  of  those  for- 
merly splendid  apartments  of  the  Royal  Palace, 
adorned  in  the  style  of  sumptuous  costliness,  that 
marked  the  taste  of  its  builder,  the  despotic 
Richelieu. 

When  the  saloon  is  illuminated,  at  the  hour  of 
dinner,  a  brilliant  effect  is  produced.  The  nume- 
rous and  splendid  mirrors,  that  line  the  apart- 
ment, upon  whose  polished  surfaces  fall  the  lustre's 
effulgent  rays,  are  reflecting  the  richly  ornamented 
wall  and  ceiling,  at  a  hundred  sparkling  angles. 
The  well-dressed  groups,  of  both  sexes,  that  fill 
the  apartment,  attest  the  fashionable  resort.  Add 
to  this,  the  happy  insouciance,  or  volatility,  if  you 
will,  that  appears  inseparable  from  the  French 
character,  and,  displaying  itself  even  more  particu- 
larly on  such  occasions,  seems  to  surround  every 
thing  with  an  atmosphere  of  mirth.  The  stranger, 
after  taking  his  first  dinner  at  Very 's,  will  own  there 
can  be  a  luxury  in  satisfying  the  appetite,  which 
your  commonplace  feeder  but  little  dreams  of. 


294  PARIS. 

So  much  for  the  salon.  Now  for  the  viandes, 
and  the  readiest  method  to  procure  them.  You 
have  entered  the  room,  and  given  the  preparatory 
touch  to  your  chapeau,  in  compliment  to  the  beaux 
yeux  of  the  dame  de  comptoir ;  the  object  next  in 
course  is,  to  secure  a  seat.  Glancing  the  eye 
around,  you  at  length  espy  a  table  unengaged, 
and  forthwith  seat  yourself  thereat ;  ensuite  the 
gargon  approaches  with  the  carte  du  restaurant; 
and  what  a  caiie  !  Do  not  imagine,  oh  courteous 
reader,  that  it  owneth  even  a  remote  similitude  to 
the  meagre  hill  of  fare,  adown  whose  slip  of  five 
by  three,  are  paraded  the  perennial  fixtures  of 
mutton,  beef,  and  pork.  The  carte  we  speak  of, 
is  a  printed  volume,  containing  the  titles  of  those 
harmonious  compositions  and  chefs-d^oeuvre,  that 
have  conferred  a  gastronomic  immortality  upon 
the  genius  of  a  Ude,  and  upon  his  illustrious 
fraternity. 

You  open  the  tome,  and  the  introductory  potage 
(welcome  precursor  of  better  things),  in  all  its 
extended  ramifications,  first  claims  the  attention. 
Puree  aux  croutons,  Lait  d'amandes,  Crecy,  Tortue, 
Julien,  —  all  are  there,  to  invite  a  selection.  This 
over,  another  page  opens  to  the  view,  les  entrees  de 
poisson.  Here  the  work  grows  complicated ;  the 
mind,  pleased  with  all,  wavers  between  the  piquant 
charms  of  the  escalope  de  saumon,  and  the  milder 
graces  of  the  laitance  de  carpe.  The  eye  glances 
doubtingly  over  the  soft  names  of  turhot  a  la 
Hollandaise  and  a  la  ere  me,  and,  scarcely  less 
dear  to  the  epicure,  of  the  inestimable  sole  au  natu- 


THE   FRENCH    VOLAILLE.  295 

rcl  or  en  maleloitc  JVormandc ;  but  proceed  witli 
the  work  until  the  eye  rests  on  tlie  section  entitled 
entrees  de  volaiUe.  It  is  now  you  become  fully 
aware  of  what  a  hydra-headed  thing  is  the  French 
cuisine.  This  single  item,  volaille,  appears  in 
more  than  fifty  divers  guises,  some  of  them  rather 
questionable,  (poulet  a  la  diable,  for  instance,) 
from  the  simple  poulet  roti,  or  farci  aux  truffes, 
to  the  snowy  delicacy  of  the  supreme. 

The  French  volaille  should  not  be  deserted 
without  a  passing  word  of  grateful  panegyric.  It 
is  emphatically  sui  generis,  and  cannot  be  found 
elsewhere  in  such  rare  perfection  :  —  no  doubt  this 
is  to  be  attributed  to  the  regime,  for  it  is  education 
makes  the  fowl,  as  well  as  the  nobler  creature  that 
devours  him.  Is  it  not  contrary  to  every  suggestion 
of  reason,  to  suppose,  that  our  tables  can  be  sup- 
plied with  well-favored  poultry,  when  these  very 
creatures  until,  perchance,  within  a  half  day  of 
their  final  appearance  upon  the  festive  board,  have 
been  frisking  away  their  existence,  unheeded  and 
uncared  for,  so  that,  by  dint  of  constant  exercise, 
the  original  delicate  fibre  becomes  converted  into 
that  iron  thew  that  doth  so  task  the  teeth  ? 

In  France  a  different  course  is  observed.  The 
poultry  is  doubtless  taken  excellent  care  of;  at  all 
events,  the  entire  genus  is  kept  sedulously  out  of 
sight,  for  I  do  not  remember  me  of  having  seen  a 
solitary  specimen,  in  whom  the  vital  spark  was  not 
extinct,  during  ray  protracted  stay  in  the  kingdom. 

The  education  of  the  bird,  I  should  suppose,  (if 
it  be  permitted  me  to  offer  an  hypothesis,  which  is 


296  PARIS. 

based  on  no  stronger  premises  than  the  undeniable 
delicacy  of  the  creature  in  question,  and  the  pecu- 
liar satisfaction  it  is  capable  of  communicating  to 
the  palate,)  must  be  conducted  in  such  a  manner, 
as,  were  there  any  thing  sentient  in  its  compound, 
could  not  fail  to  bestow  upon  it  an  earnest  of  that 
important  station  in  the  animal  economy  which  it 
is  hereafter  destined  to  fill  in  a  manner  so  creditable 
to  itself. 

But  to  return  to  the  cm^te.  You  are  now  sup- 
posed to  have  waded  through  the  long  catalogue 
of  entrees,  entremets,  hors-cPceuvres,  &c.,  until  in 
course  you  come  to  the  wines.  But  a  propos  of 
the  wines,  —  it  were  better  to  inform  yourself  on 
that  subject  previously  ;  for  the  first  question  the 
garcon  addresses  you,  after  bringing  the  plate  and 
bread  is,  "  Monsieur,  quel  vin  desirez-vous  ?  "  It 
never  crosses  his  mind  to  inquire  whether  you  take 
wine  at  all ;  —  he  considers  that  a  thing  of  course, 
and  would  not  insult  you  by  proposing  the  query. 

You  glance  over  the  list ;  there  is  the  whole  fam- 
ily of  Burgundy,  with  that  of  Bordeaux,  amounting 
to  some  scores,  not  to  mention  the  golden  Rhenish 
or  sparkling  Champagne.  If  you  are  an  epicure, 
and  dine  on  ortolans,  I  should  recommend  you  the 
Chateau  Lafitte  or  Romanee ;  if  not,  I  would  ven- 
ture to  say,  that  a  bottle  of  St.  Julien  or  Volnay 
may  well  suit  your  purpose.  The  French  regard 
Champagne  rather  as  a  supper  than  a  dinner  wine, 
or,  if  it  appear  at  the  latter  meal,  it  is  generally  to 
bring  up  the  rear,  and,  like  a  forlorn  hope,  protect 
that  which  has  gone  before ;  for,  in  France,  Cham- 


DETAILS  OF   A   DINNER.  297 

paguc  is  looked  upon  as  a  more  powerful  wine  than 
either  Bordeaux  or  Burgundy. 

The  business  of  the  drama  is  now  over,  and  by 
way  of  epilogue,  you  toss  off  a  demi-tasse  of  cafe 
noir,  with  its  accompanying  petit  verre  de  liqueur^ 
which  has  been  appositely  termed  chasse^cafc,  from 
the  peculiar  ra})idity  it  usually  exhibits  in  follow- 
ing that  aromatic  beverage.  The  boide  and  cure- 
dents  are  now  presented  you,  and  all  is  settled 
save  the  bill.  "  Garcon,  la  note!  "  —the  gar^on  sig- 
nifies your  wish  to  the  fair  dame  who  presides,  and 
straight  is  brought  you  the  account  upon  a  little 
slip  of  paper.  Each  item  is  particularized,  and 
mistakes  but  very  rarely  occur.  You  pay  the 
amount,  throw  a  franc  or  two  on  the  table  for  the 
garron,  exchange  a  parting  nod  with  the  daine  de 
comptoir,  and  emerge  into  the  open  air. 

Such  are  the  details  of  a  Parisian  dinner  ;  a  sin- 
gle instance  will  suffice  to  characterize  the  whole. 
And  now  we  will  turn  from  a  consideration  of  the 
places  that  furnish  the  wherewithal  to  sustain  the 
body,  and  dwell,  if  I  may  borrow  a  metaphor  from 
the  foregoing,  upon  that  genre  of  cafe  and  restau- 
rant, where  are  stored  the  dishes  that  administer  a 
nobler  aliment  to  the  immortal  mind. 


38 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

Pai-is  favorable  to  Literary  Men,  —  The  Royal  Library.  —  Auto- 
gi-aphs.  —  Reflections.  —  Literary  Facilities  for  Strangers.  —  French 
Memou-es.  —  The  Novel.  —  Victor  Hugo.  —  Portrait  of  M.  Balzac  — 
Paul  de  Kock.  —  His  Novels.  —  The  Difficulty  of  Translating  them. 
—  The  Drama.  —  Casimii-  De  la  Vigue.  —  M.  Scribe.  —  The  Vaude- 
ville. —  Concerts  of  Instrumental  Music  in  the  Open  Air.  —  Re- 
marks on  them. —  Fondness  of  the  French  for  Pleasure.  —  Con- 
certs at  the  Champs  Elysees  d'Hiver.  — Musard's  Concerts. 

I  HAVE  said,  in  a  former  portion  of  this  volume, 
that  the  capital  of  France  is,  as  a  residence,  pecu- 
liarly favorable  to  the  literary  man.  The  policy  of 
the  French  government,  on  the  subject  of  letters,  is 
free  and  enlightened,  removing,  as  far  as  may  be, 
impediments  from  the  abstruse  paths  of  Science, 
and  conferring  honor  and  patronage  upon  those  who 
successfully  tread  them. 

The  Bibliotheque  Royale  in  Paris  is,  undoubted- 
ly, at  the  present  era,  the  best  endowed  library  in 
Christendom,  containing,  as  is  said,  more  than  six 
hundred  thousand  printed  volumes  and  eighty 
thousand  manuscripts.  This  immense  repository 
of  learning  stands  in  the  Rue  Richelieu,  and  ex- 
tends its  sombre  length  at  least  a  quarter  part  of 
that  avenue.  The  exhibition  of  his  passport  will 
entitle  the  stranger  to  admittance,  and  he  may 
roam  at  his  leisure  through  the  wide  halls  of  va- 
ried science. 

Interesting  as  the  Bibliotheque  Royale  must  ever 
be,  from  its  prodigious  extent,  and  many  thousand 


THE  BIBLIOTHEQUE    ROYALE.  299 

tomes,  it  is  yet  more  so  by  reason  of  the  memorials 
it  has  preserved  in  grateful  recollection  of  tiiose 
celebrated  men,  whose  talents  and  genius  have 
so  eminently  enriched  it.  There  are  autograph 
letters  of  Voltaire,  Rousseau,  D'Alembert,  Diderot, 
and  of  others,  whose  names  are  more  deeply  wrap- 
ped in  the  mantle  of  antiquity. 

There  is  a  curious  feeling,  and  difficult  of  analy- 
sis, that  comes  over  the  mind,  as  dwells  the  eye 
upon  those  palpable  characters,  traced  by  men 
whose  deathless  conceptions  did,  in  their  own  day, 
surround  them  with  the  bright  halo  of  glory,  and 
have  descended  to  us  sanctioned  by  the  irrefutable 
touchstone  of  Time,  as  in  letters  of  thrice  purified 
gold.  There  is  to  me,  in  the  view  of  these  simple 
characters,  a  something  of  magic,  that  annihilates 
the  wide  field  of  distance  existent  heretofore  be- 
tween the  sublime  author,  and  the  reader,  who  has 
drunk  in  delight  and  instructiori  from  his  richly 
stored  page.  From  the  immediate  effect,  I  revert 
to  the  immediate  cause  ;  —  before  me  is  the  auto- 
graph, pale  under  the  effacing  influence  of  time;  my 
imagination  conjures  up  a  vision  of  him,  whose  ma- 
terial hand  once  traced  it.  I  can  see  the  daring 
author  of  "  Mahomet,"  or  him,  the  more  eloquent 
"  apostle  of  affection,"  whose  life  was  poisoned  by 
the  suffering  that  ever  results  from  excess  of  sensi- 
bility,— a  suffering  which  his  own  impassioned  pages 
have  so  feelingly  portrayed  ;  they  are  gone,  all,  and 
years  since,  like  commoner  clay,  has  the  material 
resolved  itself  to  its  original  elements.  But  what 
remains  ?  To  live,  —  to  suffer, —  were  indeed  but 
a  poor  boon,  and  then  to  die   and  be  forgotten ;  — 


300  I'ARIS. 

but  happily  it  is  not  always  thus.  Secure  in  its 
enduring  monuments,  the  mighty  majesty  of  mind 
will  ever  assert  its  supremacy,  and  it  is  the  con- 
sciousness of  this  which  sustains  the  child  of  gen- 
ius through  every  ill  that  existence  is  heir  to,  and 
renders  even  that  existence  a  blessing.  Of  what 
little  import  then  should  appear  to  the  rational 
man,  the  mere  well-being  of  the  physical,  that 
shall  endure  but  a  brief  space,  in  comparison  with 
the  constant  culture  and  exercise  of  that  divine  ema- 
nation, that  employs  its  present  energies,  and  may, 
when  ages  shall  have  rolled  by,  be  yet  exerting  its 
influence  for  good  or  for  evil.  The  material  is  but 
the  subordinate,  the  slave.  We  seem  to  forget  that 
it  is  the  mind, —  the  mind,  with  its  fearful  energies, 
unconscious  of  bound  or  limit,  which  constitutes 
that  mysterious  being  —  ourself. 

I  have  said  that  the  policy  of  the  French,  as 
regards  their  literary  institutions,  was  open  and 
enlightened,  and  thus  it  undeniably  is.  A  stranger, 
known  to  be  engaged  in  any  literary  undertaking, 
would  experience  no  difficulty  in  obtaining  access, 
free  of  cost,  to  the  invaluable  stores  of  learning 
concentrated  in  the  Bibliotheque  Royale  ;  and  not 
only  here,  but  the  same  remark  will  hold  true  with 
reference  to  all  the  scientific  resorts  in  which  the 
capital  abounds. 

The  most  extensive  libraries,  whose  contents  may 
be  at  the  strangers'  disposal,  for  a  trifling  subscrip- 
tion per  month,  are  first,  that  of  Messrs.  Gali- 
gnani,  editors  of  the  widely  diffused  journal,  call- 
ed "Galignani's  Messenger";  and  second,  one  just 


LITERARY   FACILITIES    FOR   STRANGERS.  301 

out  of  the  Rue  de  la  Paix,  which  possesses  an  ex- 
tensive collection  of  works  in  both  the  French  and 
English  languages. 

At  Galignani's  reading-room,  adjoining  his  libra- 
ry, in  the  Rue  Vivienne,  you  find  the  principal  Lon- 
don journals  and  other  leading  periodicals,  with  all 
the  Paris  papers,  and  those,  generally,  of  the  Con- 
tinent, that  possess  a  reputation.  The  American 
reader  may  chance,  too,  to  fall  upon  a  file  of  New 
York  prints ;  but  these  are  kept  rather  out  of  the 
way  ;  for  Messrs.  Galignani  seem  somewhat  to  un- 
dervalue our  Republican  politics. 

A  French  circulating  library  contains  much 
more  material  to  amuse  (if  not  instruct),  than  do 
our  own  or  those  of  England.  There  is  one  genre 
of  composition  in  which  they  abound,  that  with  us 
is  very  rare  ;  —  I  refer  to  the  mcmoircs,  those  pi- 
quant confessions  of  personages  in  power,  which, 
besides  being  extremely  edifying  from  their  candor 
and  naivete,  are  not  a  little  interesting  from  the 
light  they  throw  upon  the  general  state  of  society, 
amid  which  the  writers  flourished.  Of  this  nature 
are,  more  particularly,  the  memoirs  written  during 
the  long  reigns  of  Louis  the  Fourteenth  and  Fif- 
teenth ;  the  most  amusing  of  these  are,  "  Les  Me- 
moires  de  Madame  la  Marquise  de  Pompadour," 
"  de  la  Duchesse  de  Barri,"  "  du  Due  du  Riche- 
lieu," and  "Les  Chroniques  de  I'CEil  de  Boeuf," 
continued  through  a  succession  of  several  reigns. 
None  of  them,  I  believe,  have  been  translated ; 
they  are  certainly  very  entertaining  in  their  own 
soft  tongue,  but  1  doubt  whether  they  would  sus- 
tain the  difiicult  test  of  an  English  version. 


302  PARIS. 

From  the  libraries  we  pass,  by  an  easy  transition, 
to  a  consideration  of  that  light  species  of  literature 
which  forms  the  most  popular  portion  of  their  con- 
tents. First,  let  us  glance  at  the  novel.  The  most 
popular  writers  in  this  kind  of  composition  are  the 
Chevalier  Paul  de  Kock,  Victor  Hugo,  and  Balzac. 

The  reputation  of  Victor  Hugo,  as  a  novelist, 
rests  upon  his  celebrated  work,  entitled  "  Notre 
Dame  de  Paris,"  a  romance  that  made  its  success- 
ful author  the  darling  of  the  enthusiastic  Parisians. 
The  work  has  been  translated  into  English  ;  it  has 
also  been  dramatized ;  and  I  recollect  having  seen 
it  performed,  with  considerable  success,  at  Covent 
Garden  Theatre. 

M.  Balzac  is  the  author  of  "  Le  Pere  Goriot," 
and  other  works  of  less  note.  During  my  frequent 
visits  to  the  Academie  Roy  ale  de  Musique,  I  sel- 
dom failed  to  observe,  seated  in  the  avant-scene,  a 
gentleman  of  very  eccentric  appearance.  He  al- 
ways wore  a  blue  coat  closely  buttoned  to  the 
throat ;  his  black  hair,  long  and  straight  as  that  of 
an  Indian,  descended  in  masses  upon  his  back  and 
shoulders.  He  was  in  the  prime  of  life,  with  a 
figure  a  little  below  the  medium  height,  but  mak- 
ing ample  amends  for  a  deficiency  in  longitude 
by  the  redundance  of  its  latitudinary  dimensions. 
The  features  of  the  countenance  surmounting  this 
figure  were  laughing  and  good-humored  ;  but  cer- 
tainly displaying  nought  to  mark  a  preponderance 
of  the  spiritual  over  the  grosser  matter.  This  was 
M.  Balzac. 

Of  all  the  French   novel-writers  of   the  present 


PAUL  DE  KOCK— THE  FRENCH  NOVEL.  303 

day,  M.  Paul  de  Kock  is  by  far  the  most  prolific, 
and  perhaps  the  most  popular.  Several  of  his  pro- 
ductions have  appeared  in  English  dress,  but  the 
translators  have  been  unable  to  do  justice  to  that 
piquant  style  and  exuberance  of  local  humor,  that 
form  the  strongest  features  of  the  original.  His 
novels  are,  "  Frere  Jaques,"  "  Georgette,"  "  Le 
Cocu,"  "  Jean,"  "  L'  Amant,  le  Mari  et  la  Femme," 
and  "  La  Pucelle  de  Belleville."  Of  these  "  Jean" 
has  been  freely  translated,  under  the  title  of  "  The 
Modern  Cymon,"  and  another  version  from  the 
Chevalier,  entitled  "  The  Good  Fellow,"  has 
lately  been  seen  in  our  circulating  libraries ;  but, 
as  I  observed  above,  they  give  but  a  faint  idea  of 
the  point  and  wit  that  run  through  the  original. 
No  man,  whose  personal  experience  has  not  made 
him  well  acquainted  with  life  in  Paris,  can  trans- 
late felicitously  the  novels  of  Paul  de  Kock.  So 
interwoven  are  they  with  the  varied  incidents  of 
the  Metropolitan  routine  ;  nay,  so  redolent  are  they 
of  the  very  atmosphere  of  Paris,  that,  unless  one 
has  undergone  the  initiatory  process  of  breathing 
that  atmosphere  a  while,  it  is  in  vain  (however 
perfect  the  knowledge  of  grammar)  to  attempt  a 
spirited  copy  of  the  original.  The  colors  fall  on 
the  canvass  with  a  leaden,  lifeless  hue,  and  the 
artist  strives,  without  success,  to  infuse  into  his 
picture  that  vitality  of  conception,  which  is  but 
imperfectly  imaged  upon  the  mirror  of  his  own 
mind. 

Another  serious  obstacle    to  the  translator,  and 
it  may  be  mentioned  without  affectation  of  prudery. 


304  PARIS. 

is,  the  hazard  of  rendering  those  strokes  of  wit, 
which  are  well  enough  in  the  slippery  French,  into 
our  own  matter-of-fact  tongue.  The  double  enten- 
dre that  would  but  excite  the  general  laugh  in 
France,  might  resound  with  far  less  happy  effect 
amid  our  more  scrupulous  circles. 

Owing  to  this  combination  of  difficulty  and  re- 
straint, the  reader,  who  is  not  familiar  enough  with 
the  language  to  relish  the  original,  will  obtain  from 
the  version  but  a  very  imperfect  idea  of  what  man- 
ner of  thing  it  is,  —  the  legitimate  French  Novel. 

From  the  romance  let  us  turn  to  another  species 
of  composition,  —  that  appertaining  to  the  Drama. 
The  two  most  celebrated  dramatists  in  France  at 
the  present  day,  are  M.  Casimir  De  la  Vigne  and 
M.  Scribe.  The  former  deals  in  that  long,  heroic 
genre,  that  delights  the  habitues  of  the  Comedie 
Francaise  ;  the  second  is  the  most  prolific  and 
successful  vaiidevilliste  of  his  time.  Nor  is  the 
muse  of  M.  Scribe  circumscribed  within  the  limits 
of  the  vaudeville.  Is  a  grand  opera  produced  ? 
la  musique  may  be  by  Auber,  Mayerbeer,  Hale- 
vy  ;  but  you  are  pretty  sure  of  finding  les  paroles 
by  Scribe.  I  should  think,  that  one  half,  or  two 
thirds,  even  of  the  successful  petites  comedies,  now 
performing  in  Paris,  are  from  the  indefatigable  pen 
of  this  author.  The  yearly  income  he  realizes 
from  them  is  very  large. 

The  pieces  of  M.  Scribe  are  represented  princi- 
pally at  the  Gijmnase  and  the  Vaudeville,  and  also 
at  the  Gaiete  and  Varietes.  Several  of  the  come- 
diette,   that    from   time  to  time  appear  ujwn   our 


THE  VAUDEVILLE.  — INSTRUMENTAL   CONCERTS    305 

Stage,  are  borrowed  from  Scribe.  Tliej  are  trans- 
lated bj  the  English  play-wrights,  with  certain 
modifications  to  suit  the  particular  temperament 
of  the  people,  and  after  a  while  find  their  way  to 
our  theatres. 

There  is  nothing  in  our  own  dramatic  literature, 
or  rather  in  that  of  England,  that  corresponds  to  the 
French  vaudeville.  This  genre  of  composition  is 
remarkable  for  its  naive  legerete,  and  the  spirituelle 
nature  of  its  dialogue.  It  is  interspersed  with 
musical  morceaux,  which  are  not  introduced  vaguely 
and  without  design,  or  merely  for  the  purpose  of 
displaying  to  advantage  the  actor's  vocal  talent ; 
they  are  part  and  parcel  of  the  play,  and  serve  to 
continue  on  the  meaning  of  the  author,  while  they 
delight  the  ear  by  their  pleasing  variety  of  sweet 
sounds. 

In  adverting  to  the  theatres  and  the  opera,  I 
have  neglected  to  make  mention  of  another  class  of 
exhibitions  which  is  likewise  very  popular  in  the 
French  capital.  I  allude  to  the  Concerts  of  in- 
strumental music.  Vocal  concerts  take  place  but 
very  rarely  in  Paris  ;  indeed  I  recollect  of  having 
attended  but  one,  which  was  given  under  the  au- 
spices of  Mademoiselle  Grisi  and  the  Italian  corps. 
During  the  belle  saison  these  instrumental  concerts 
are  given  under  the  starry  canopy  in  the  Champs 
Elysees,  and  the  Jardin   Turc. 

In  our  changeful  clime  and  beneath  our  weeping 
skies,  the  experiment  of  such  nightly  assemblages 
in  the  open  air  might  be  somewhat  hazardous ;  and 
39 


306  PARIS. 

in  the  midst  ol  a  fine  overture,  we  should  not 
unfrequently  be  put  to  flight  by  the  descendant 
shower;  but,  under  the  heau  del  oi  France,  the 
skies  are  more  faithful  to  their  promise,  and  the 
belle  soiree  rarely  fails  to  be  the  precursor  of  the 
bright  and  cloudless  night.  Undismayed  by  the 
fear  of  watery  intrusion,  or  the  insidious  catarrh,  of 
an  agreeable  evening,  an  elegant  and  fashionable 
assemblage  is  sure  to  be  present  at  the  musical 
rendezvous.  A  full  and  effective  band  gives,  with 
admirable  effect,  the  favorite  morceaux  of  the  reign- 
ing Operas.  Alternately  the  crashing  overture,  the 
lively  galoppade,  or  voluptuous  waltz,  with  noisy 
harmony  rend  the  still  air. 

For  admission  to  the  immediate  area,  in  the 
centre  of  which  stands  the  pavilion  for  the  or- 
chestra, one  franc  is  demanded.  Those  economists 
who  listen  without  the  pale  of  good  society  pay 
nothing,  and  of  course  constitute  a  large  portion  of 
the  audience.  It  is  pleasant,  after  having  drunk  in 
awhile  the  sweet  breath  of  the  music,  to  saunter 
forth  amid  the  groves  of  the  Champs  Elysees,  and 
watch  the  people  engaged  at  their  various  sports  ; 
for  the  Champs  Elysees  are,  as  I  have  before 
said,   the  grand  pleasure-grounds  of  Paris. 

I  remember  well  the  first  evening  I  attended  one 
of  these  concerts  ;  it  was  a  lovely  evening  in  June. 
The  radiant  empress  of  night,  and  the  bright  con- 
clave of  her  starry  train,  were  shedding  their  mild 
lustre  over  the  roofs  and  towers  of  the  great  city. 
In  Paris,  of  all  other  places,  it  seems  almost  im- 


COiNCERTS  IN  THK  CHAMPS  l.r.YSKKS  307 

pious  lo  lose  such  precious  hours.     Invited  by  that 
delicious  softness  of  the  air,  that  makes  the  mere 
act  of  breathing  a  pleasure,   I   strolled  along    the 
lengthened  avenue  which  conducts  to  the  Champs 
Elysees ;    the  voice  of  music  reached   my   ear ;  I 
accelerated   my  steps,   and  soon   reached  the  spot 
whence  the  harmony  proceeded ;  I  entered  the  area 
and  seated   myself.     The  tout  ensemble  of  the  view 
(novel  as  it  must  be  to  the  American,  who,  for  the 
first  time  has   but  just  landed   on  a  foreign  shore,) 
appeared  to  me   as   peculiarly  striking  and    beau- 
tiful.     The    groups    of  fair    women    rendered  yet 
more  fair  by  the  love-lighting  rays   of  the   silvery 
moon  ;  the   strains   of  music,   that,   blending    with 
the  pure  and  balmy  air,  seemed   to  fall  with  magic 
influence  on  the  ear,  —  oh  !  there  is  a  high  excite- 
ment   thrills    through    the    senses    from    materials 
like  these,  that  words  but  faintly  picture  ;  and  then, 
too,  the  perfect  consonance  and  accord,  that  dwell 
upon  every  thing  around.     What  is  it  in  these  fair 
scenes    of  amusement  and  pleasure,    that    warms 
the  heart  of  the  spectator,   and  inclines  him   to  a 
full  participation  ?     It  is,  I  conceive,  the  open,  un- 
disguised sincerity  of  that  gaiete,  that  springs  gush- 
ing  and    spontaneous    from    the    heart.     There  is 
nothing  there  visible  of  that  cold  calculation,  which, 
in  some  other  climes,  enters  amid  the  very  sports ; 
there  is  no  chilling  distinction  between  the  patron 
and   the  patronized  ;  all  seemed  determined  to  be 
pleased,  and  each  component  part  happily  mingles 
to  form   the  harmonious  ensemble.      The  pleasures 


308  PARIS. 

of  the  French  seem  to  be  a  part  of  themselves,  as 
much  as  their  moral  and  physical  faculties ;  they 
are  not  the  forced  growth  of  imaginations,  arti- 
ficially and  unduly  stimulated,  nor  the  perverted 
offspring  of  distorted  systems  of  education.  Happy 
the  nation  that  can  at  times  unbend !  As  the 
exuberant  glee  of  innocent  childhood  more  fits  the 
elastic  mind  to  overcome  the  recurring  daily  task, 
so  is  it  with  the  man  ;  —  so  is  it  with  the  assem- 
blage of  men ;  —  and  we  may  be  sure,  that  a 
nation,  where  joy  and  smiling  mirth  hold  occasional 
undisputed  sway;  a  nation,  the  spirit  of  whose 
constitution  has  provided  for  the  necessary  relaxa- 
tion of  the  mind,  by  setting  apart  seasons  for 
general  rejoicing,  is  capable  of  attaining  the  noblest 
results  in  Science,  and  the  most  glorious  achieve- 
ments in  Action. 

From  these  rather  digressional  remarks,  I  re- 
turn to  the  subject  which  induced  them.  When 
the  season  becomes  too  inclement  for  the  out-of- 
door's  music,  the  concerts  are  given  in  a  gorgeous 
saloon,  termed  "  Champs  Elysees  d'Hiver,"  in  the 
Rue  Lafitte,  next  the  princely  hotel  of  the  Baron 
Rothschild.  This  saloon  is  by  far  the  most  splen- 
did concert-room  I  ever  beheld.  On  extraordinary 
occasions  it  is  made  use  of  for  balls  and  reunions. 
At  such  times,  it  is  most  brilliantly  adorned  and 
illuminated.  It  is  supposed  this  splendid  hall  will 
easily  contain  three  thousand  persons. 

Besides  the  concerts  of  the  Champs  Elysees, 
there  are  those  donnfs  chez  Musard  in  the  Rue  St. 


CONCERTS  AT  MUSARD  S.  309 

Honore,  just  out  of  the  Rue  de  la  Paix.  Musard's 
concerts  are  on  the  same  extensive  scale  with  those 
of  the  Champs  Elysees  d'Hiver;  the  same  prix 
d^entree  is  demanded  ;  and  the  establishments  are 
rival  aspirants  for  public  favor.  Both  however  are 
very  well  sustained. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

The  Carnival.  —  The  Masked  Ball.  —  Crowds  on  the  Boulevards. — 
Foreign  Prejudices  respecting  the  French. — Then-  Personal  Ap- 
pearance. —  Dress.  —  The  Parisian  Elegant.  —  The  Bourgeois.  — 
National  Guard.  —  Troops  of  the  Line.  —  The  Parisian  Character. 
—  Love  of  Glory  and  Pleasure.  —  Sense  of  Honor.  —  Selfishness. — 
The  Female  Sex.  —  Their  Due.  —  Their  Personal  Appearance.  — 
American  and  European  Beauty.  —  American  Beauty  in  Paris.  — 
Moral  Atmosphere  of  Paris.  —  Remark  from  Bulwer.  —  Girlhood 
in  the  Higher  Classes  of  Society.  —  Maniages. — Mamed  Life. — 
Morality  of  the  Lower  Orders.  —  Wretchedness  and  Crime  in 
European  Cities. —  Ignorance.  —  Divoi-ces.  —  Genius  of  the  French 
Language  respecting  Love.  —  Bad  Tendency  of  the  Catholic  Re- 
ligion.—  Reflections  on  Protestant  America. 

I  HAVE  now  touched  upon  all  the  more  promi- 
nent sources  of  public  amusement  in  Paris,  with 
the  exception  of  those  particularly  connected  with 
the  Carnival.  At  the  head  of  all  the  extrava- 
gances of  this  gay  season,  —  stands  confessedly 
the  "  bal  masque."  The  balls  are  given  at  nearly 
all  the  theatres,  the  opera  houses,  and  at  Musard's. 
Those  at  the  Academic  Royale  are  much  the  most 
distinguished  and  select.  The  price  here  demand- 
ed for  admission  is  ten  francs,  —  at  the  others  but 
five ;  there  is  no  dancing  at  the  reunions  of  the 
Academic  Royale.  The  ladies  are  all  enveloped  in 
black  dominos,  their  pretty  features  concealed  by 
the  black  and  envious  mask;  save  when,  more  love- 
ly by  contrast  from  the  circumambient  blackness, 
peeps  forth  the  rounded  chin,  like  the  white  disc 


THE    MASKED   BALL.  31  1 

of  tlie  silvery  moon,  just  commencing  to  emerge 
from  the  dark  bosom  of  a  thunder-cloud.  The 
cavaliers  are  usually  dressed  in  the  height  of  the 
fashion,  and  all  bespeaks  the  presence  of  the  ban 
ton. 

The  masked  balls  at  the  Opera  are  much  more 
agreeable  to  the  Parisian  than  to  the  stranger,  for 
reasons  that  it  is  unnecessary  to  assign,  and  which 
the  enlightened  reader  will  not  fail  to  perceive. 
The  principal  place  of  promenade  is  the  saloon, 
which  is  tastefully  decorated  with  evergreens,  and 
rich  w'ith  splendid  mirrors.  The  salle  is  brilliantly 
illuminated  ;  a  flooring  is  thrown  over  the  parterre, 
connecting  it  with  the  stage,  and  thus  forming  an 
extensive  promenade. 

At  the  commencement  of  the  reunion  there  are 
usually  exhibitions  on  the  stage,  such  as  a  favorite 
dance  by  the  artistes,  or  feats  of  strength  and  agil- 
ity by  the  troupe  of  the  Cirque  Olijmpique  (Fran- 
coni.)  These  over,  the  company  arc  left  to  amuse 
themselves,  and  this  they  appear  to  succeed  well 
enough  in  doing.  The  promenading  in  the  saloon 
continues  until  a  late,  I  should  say  an  early,  hour  of 
the  day  ;  the  gentlemen  are  gallant  and  empresses, 
—  the  masks  are  amiable,  exigeantes,  or  provoking- 
ly  mysterious,  as  caprice  may  dictate.  In  fact, 
they  have  the  game  in  their  own  hands,  and  can 
play  the  cards  as  they  like.  The  whole  style  of 
the  thing  is  a  Pltalien,  and  very  popular,  as  might 
be  supposed,  in  a  country  where  custom  and  clime 
incite  to  intrigue. 

The  "  bal  masque,"   as  it  appears  in  the  other 


312  PARIS. 

theatres  of  the  metropolis,  is  of  a  nature  far  less 
refined  than  at  the  Opera.  The  hour  for  the 
ball  to  commence  is  midnight.  The  men  are 
admitted  in  every  description  of  fancy  dress,  but 
are  not  suffered  to  go  masked  ;  the  women  are 
masked  or  unmasked,  as  they  fancy,  and  their  cos- 
tumes are  of  all  imaginable  descriptions,  and  some 
not  a  little  bizarres.  The  dancing  is  sustained  with 
ceaseless  and  unremitting  ardor ;  the  laisser  alter 
is  at  its  height ;  a  gaietc  foldtre  seems  to  bear  every 
thing  on  in  its  resistless  stream. 

To  a  spectator  from  the  deuxiemes  loges,  the 
scene  below  wears  a  singular  and  not  uninteresting 
aspect.  Moving  to  the  strains  of  music,  and  cir- 
cling in  the  rapid  figures  of  the  danse,  the  ani- 
mated mass,  like  a  sea  of  life,  seems  to  fluctuate 
in  ceaseless  undulation.  It  is  not  until  the  hour 
of  five  or  six,  that  a  general  dispersion  of  the 
monde  takes  place.  The  dancers  haste  to  their 
morning  couches,  anxious  to  recruit  their  exhausted 
spirits,  and  be  eii  etat  for  a  similar  scene  on  the 
succeeding  night. 

The  bal  masque,  however,  is  but  a  single  feature 
of  Parisian  gayety.  During  the  bruyante  season  of 
the  Carnival,  every  thing  seems  in  accordance. 
The  entire  population  deliver  themselves  up  to  the 
most  extravagant  demonstrations  of  joy  and  hilar- 
ity. It  is  only  during  the  three  last  days  of  the 
Carnival,  that  masking  is  allowed  in  the  streets, 
and  then  all  Paris  flocks  to  the  Boulevard  ;  that 
spacious  avenue  seems  but  one  confused  mass 
of  human  beings.     Through  the   immense    crowd, 


I'llEJUDlCEiS  RESPECTING  THE  FRENCH.  313 

at  slowest  pace,  threads  its  way  the  occasional 
jiacre,  filled  with  revellers  masked  and  fancifully 
costumed.  The  shouts  of  these  gentry,  as  they  pass 
along,  are  responded  to  by  the  mass,  with  a  will 
that  causes  the  very  air  to  ring  with  reiterated  ac- 
clamations. These  three  days  are  the  delirious 
crisis  of  a  raging  fever,  and  when  they  are  past, 
all  settles  down  once  more  into  the  calm,  even  flow, 
and  the  elements  of  society  seem  to  return  to  a 
happier  and  more  harmonious  adjustment  from  the 
fierce  commotion  that  had  threatened  to  disorgan- 
ize them. 

Before  quitting  the  subject  of  Paris  and  the  Pa- 
risians, I  must,  as  is  the  custom  of  all  travellers, 
devote  a  page  or  two  to  a  few  remarks  upon  the 
general  appearance,  dress,  &c.,  of  the  people,  and 
upon  their  moral  as  well  as  physical  condition. 

There  is  a  vulgar  idea  (unshared,  of  course,  by 
the  well-informed),  that  the  French  are  a  nation  of 
dancers  and  music-masters,  deficient  alike  in  dignity 
of  body  and  dignity  of  mind.  Their  physical  parti- 
cles are  kept,  it  is  supposed,  in  attenuated  subjec- 
tion, through  their  soupe  maigre  and  thin  potations, 
and  the  original  powers  of  their  minds  frittered 
away  by  a  ceaseless  attention  to  the  volatile  and 
the  frivolous.  Such  is  the  prevalent  idea  respect- 
ing the  French,  among  the  lower  classes  of  both 
England  and  America,  —  an  idea,  which  unques- 
tionably derives  its  origin  from  that  deep-rooted 
national  antipathy,  which,  fostered  by  continual 
war,  existed  for  centuries  between  the  rival  king- 
doms of  England  and  France ;  and  the  parent 
40 


314  PARIS. 

country  has,  in  a  measure,  instilled  her  national  pre- 
judices into  the  minds  of  her  offspring.  Let  us 
cast  a  glance  at  the  Frenchman  as  he  actually 
is.  In  height,  collectively  as  a  nation,  he  yields 
a  little  to  the  American  ;  but  his  body  is  if  any 
thing  more  robust,  and  he  apparently  enjoys  a 
higher  degree  of  health.  Dyspepsia,  with  its 
long  train  of  nervous  diseases,  is  but  little  known 
in  France,  and  pulmonic  complaints  exhibit  them- 
selves but  rarely.  Compared  with  his  neighbour 
across  the  Channel,  the  disadvantage  is  on  the 
side  of  the  Frenchman,  both  as  regards  strength 
and  stature.  On  the  score  of  dress,  it  must  be 
conceded,  I  think,  that  the  Frenchman  is  not  a 
particularly  well-dressed  man ;  —  he  appears  to 
think  that  the  science  of  dress  in  all  its  elaborate 
details  appertains  exclusively  to  the  beau  sexe. 
There  are  in  Paris  no  Stultzes,  no  Nugees.  One 
of  the  most  distinguished  taillcurs  in  the  French 
capital  was  some  years  since  well  known  in  the 
metropolis  of  New  England.  He  enjoys  an  ex- 
tensive pratique,  and,  from  the  courtesy  of  his 
manners,  and  his  artist-like  style,  is  deservedly  a 
favorite,  both  among  his  own  countrymen,  and 
the  English  residents  in  Paris. 
.  I  have  said,  the  Frenchman  would  not  be  re- 
marked as  a  well-dressed  man.  In  the  Capital 
itself,  but  little  can  be  discovered  of  that  butter- 
fly species,  which  corresponds  to  the  full-blown 
dandy  of  Bond  and  Regent  streets.  Yet  Paris 
has  its  elegans,  as  the  stranger  will  not  fail  to 
perceive,  if  he  devote  an  evening  to  the  Italian 
Opera  or  to  Musards'.    The  Parisian  elegant  sports 


THE   PARISIAN   ELEGANT.  315 

the  whisker  and  moustache.  His  coat  and  trow- 
sers  are  from  the  skilful  hand  of  Humann  or 
Staub ;  his  hand  is  encased  in  the  kid  chef- 
d^cnuvre  of  Privat ;  while  the  brilliant  boot,  that 
encloses  either  pedal  extremity,  and  just  peeps 
from  beneath  the  loose  trowsers,  attests  the  ge- 
nius of  a  Forr. 

The  bourgeois  of  Paris  is  generally  stout  and 
well  made.  The  Garde  jYationale,  which  is  mostly 
composed  of  this  class,  and,  in  the  Capital  alone, 
amounts  to  one  hundred  thousand  men,  is  a  re- 
markably fine  corps. 

I  have  seen  about  forty  thousand  of  these  un- 
der arms  with  nearly  an  equal  number  of  the  Line. 
The  physical  difference  between  these  two  bodies 
of  troops  is  not  a  little  striking.  The  Garde  JYa- 
tionale is  composed  of  well-fed,  hearty-looking 
personages,  seemingly  adequate  to  a  dozen  cam- 
paigns, while  the  troops  of  the  line  are  nmch 
smaller  men,  but  possess  that  bronzed  appear- 
ance, which  indicates  stamina  and  great  capa- 
bility of  endurance.  Their  average  height,  1 
should  think,  would  not  exceed  five  feet  and  three 
or  four  inches ;  but  these  were  the  men,  who 
planted  the  standard  of  their  Emperor  in  nearly 
every  capital  of  Europe. 

Thus  much  for  the  men,  who,  after  all,  differ 
but  slightly  in  all  civilized  countries ;  I  shall 
therefore  dismiss  them  with  a  few  brief  remarks 
on  those  peculiar  traits  of  character,  which  may 
be  regarded  as  distinctive  and  national.  The 
Parisian  is  gay,  volatile,  and  irreligious  ;  —  but  lit- 


316  PARIS. 

lie  prone  to  reflection,  he  sedulously  avoids  ev- 
ery thing  that  tends  immediately  to  suggest  the 
image  of  mortality,  though,  when  compelled  to  face 
Death,  his  constitutional  bravery  will  not  allow 
him  to  shrink  from  the  encounter.  Glory  and 
pleasure  are  his  two  idols.  In  war  he  will  fear- 
lessly risk  his  life  to  gain  the  one ;  and  in  peace 
the  hours  of  his  existence  are  devoted  to  the  other, 
or  to  gaining  those  means  which  he  values  prin- 
cipally as  enabling  him  to  attain  it.  His  motto 
is  the  Epicurean  "  Dum  vivimus,  vivamus.  "  In  the 
pleasures  of  the  table  he  is  moderate,  being  rarely 
guilty  of  undue  excitement  or  excess,  and  the  nat- 
ural flow  of  his  spirits  renders  aid  from  artificial 
stimulus  unnecessary. 

He  is  easily  aroused  to  anger,  and  is  ever  ready, 
at  the  shadow  of  an  afiront,  to  demand  or  afibrd  the 
satisfaction  of  a  gentleman ;  at  the  same  time 
nothing  can  be  more  courteous  than  his  general 
demeanor  ;  and,  if  he  be  quick  to  resent  an  un- 
provoked insult,  he  is  in  the  like  degree  slow  to 
inflict  one.  A  candid  explanation  of  a  mistake, 
or  a  polite  apology,  will  convert  him  from  the 
bitter  enemy  to  the  warm-hearted  friend.  His 
pleasures  are  usually  rather  those  of  Sentiment 
than  of  Sense ;  he  is  fond  of  music  and  the  the- 
atre ;  he  is  likewise  addicted  to  gallantry,  and 
fully  alive  to  the  fascinations  of  the  softer  sex. 

Yet,  with  all  his  many  amiable  qualities,  there  is 
a  stratum  of  selfishness  in  the  character  of  the 
Parisian,  which  renders  it  hazardous  to  depend 
upon  him  in  those  cases  of  urgency,  which  are  the 


A  GLANCE  AT  THE  BEAU  SEXE.        317 

pierre  de  louche  whereby  to  test  true  friendship. 
He  is  a  pleasant  companion  to  share  the  convivi- 
ality of  the  social  hour,  but  neither  his  character 
nor  habits  qualify  him  to  be  the  staunch  ally  or  the 
bosom  friend. 

Having  thus  taken  a  hasty  glance  at  the  more 
prominent  traits  of  character  in  the  men,  we  will 
now  turn  our  attention  towards  the  beau  sexe, 
which  of  course  claims  a  closer  and  more  protracted 
attention. 

In  France  the  women  can  scarcely  be  called 
with  justice  the  weaker  sex.  They  preside  at  the 
comptoir,  they  do  the  honors  of  the  table  ;  in  fact, 
the  women  seem  excluded  from  nothing,  save  that 
which  appertains  directly  to  the  legislation  of  the 
realm.  Elevated  in  such  a  condition  of  society, 
the  women  of  France  are  of  course  very  different 
from  the  sensitive  and  shrinking  creatures  that  re- 
sult as  the  legitimate  offspring  of  a  diametrically  op- 
posite state  of  public  opinion.  And,  first,  let  us 
cast  a  glance  at  the  physical  appearance  of  the 
fair  sex  in  France.  The  French  woman  is  some- 
what lower  in  stature  than  the  American  or  Eng- 
lish, and  more  inclined  than  either  to  the  just 
degree  of  embonpoint,  which  communicates  to  the 
figure  that  graceful,  rounded  outline,  without  which 
elegance  of  person  can  hardly  be  said  to  exist. 
The  natural  graces  of  her  exterior  are  heightened 
by  consummate  skill  in  the  science  of  dress. 
The  features  of  the  Frenchwoman  are  animated 
and  intelligent ;  her  carriage  is  easy  and  graceful ; 
her  deportment  gay    and    affable,    and    her  whole 


318  PARIS. 

appearance  conveys  to  the  mind  a  je  ne  sais  quoi 
of  pleasing  and  harmonious,  which,  however  mani- 
fest to  the  feelings,  is  yet  difficult  for  the  pen  to 
describe. 

And  here,  while  on  the  subject  of  foreign  beauty, 
if  the  reader  will  pardon  me  the  interruption, 
wafted  by  Imagination  across  the  broad  Atlantic, 
I  will  dwell  for  a  moment  upon  a  subject  dearer 
to  the  American,  —  the  beauty  whose  home  is  in 
his  own  rough  clime. 

It  must  be  conceded,  and  who  shall  therefor 
accuse  me  of  an  overweening  national  partiality, 
that,  setting  aside  those  peculiar  graces  of  manner 
and  tourniire  in  which  the  French  ladies  excel  all 
others,  for  the  obvious  reason,  that  it  is  the  study 
of  their  lives  so  to  appear,  as  most  will  fascinate 
the  other  sex,  —  setting  these  aside,  I  say,  as  un- 
fair advantages,  because  the  stricter  tone  of  public 
opinion  with  us  forbids  the  fair  sex  the  use  of  such 
powerful  weapons,  —  it  must  be  conceded,  that  the 
highest  order  of  American  beauty  will  eclipse  the 
same  order  among  the  nations  of  Europe ;  its 
very  delicacy  and  perishable  nature  invests  it  with 
a  charm,  the  healthier  beauties  of  the  Old  World 
are  unskilled  to  inspire.  There  is  a  stronger  at- 
traction for  the  heart  and  the  feelings  in  that 
kind  of  loveliness,  which  half  discloses,  even  at  its 
first  bright  dawn,  the  signs  of  its  own  ephemeral 
existence,  than  in  the  warmer  glow  of  those  open- 
ing charms,  which  promise  to  expand  to  a  ripe 
and  dazzling  maturity. 

The  mellow,  melting  tint,  which  the  overhang- 


AMERICAN  AND  EUROPEAN  BEAUTY.  319 

ing  cloud  borrows  from  the  setting  sun,  though 
its  transient  beauty  exist  but  for  a  moment,  is 
dearer  to  the  lover  of  Nature,  than  the  fierce  rajs 
of  morning,  or  the  gairish  effulgence  of  a  noonday 
sky.  Were  it,  therefore,  my  envied  lot  (like  that 
of  Paris  of  old),  to  decide  the  claim  to  preemi- 
nence between  the  beauties  that  bloom  in  the  va- 
rious climes  through  which  I  have  ranged,  and 
those  of  our  western  hemisphere, —  without  keeping 
the  rival  fair  long  in  suspense,  I  should  leave  the 
palm  at  home.  Nor  do  I  believe,  that  the  flashing 
beauties  of  Circassia,  nor  the  melting  Georgian 
maids,  can  surpass  the  charms  of  those  lovely 
countenances,  that  from  time  to  time  flit  by  our 
path  in  our  own  native  land. 

From  these  general  remarks  I  will  now  descend 
to  particulars.  During  my  residence  in  the  capital 
of  France,  the  beauty  of  our  countrywomen  was 
favorably  represented.  Many  names  might  be 
mentioned,  to  give  weight  to  the  assertion.  I 
will  select  only  among  the  bright  galaxy  those  of 
Miss  C  *****  *  and  Mrs.  W  ********, 
and  my  reader,  more  particularly  if  he  were  there 
at  the  time,  will  not  think  it  an  object  to  dispute 
the  point. 

And  now  I  bid  adieu  to  this  (to  me)  fascinating 
subject,  over  which  the  conscious  pen  would  fain 
linger,  —  not  doubting  that  the  reader,  if  a  gentle- 
man, will  find  this  paragraph  as  much  to  his  taste  as 
any  the  author  could  have  written  ;  and,  if  a  lady 
(here  I  feel  more  diffidence),  earnestly  hoping  that 
she  will  excuse  the  temerity,  which  has  ventured  to 


320  PARIS. 

profifer  a  homage,  heartfelt,  however  unworthy,  to 
charms,  which,  indeed,  (oh  impotence  of  language  !) 
much  abler  writers  have  succeeded  onlij  —  in  failing 
to  delineate. 

But,  to  resume  our  theme,  the  moral  character 
of  the  dames  Franraises  has  suffered  much  from 
the  sweeping  animadversions  of  travellers,  particu- 
larly the  English.  If  we  were  to  give  credence 
to  the  assertions  of  certain  of  these  gentry,  we 
should  be  compelled  to  believe,  that  morality  is  a 
thing  well  nigh  unknown  or  exploded  in  France. 
In  Henry  Bulwer's  work  on  that  kingdom,  of 
which,  during  my  residence  in  Paris,  I  read  the 
French  translation,  there  occurs  a  passage  embody- 
ing a  sentiment  like  the  following ;  "  Parmi  les 
FratiQaises  il  rfy  a  point  d'honneur  aiissi  farouche 
que  de  n^etre  pas  a  prix.'^''  The  remark  indicates, 
either  that  there  was  some  resistless  fascination 
about  the  writer,  reasoning  from  which  he  arrives 
at  the  general  conclusion,  or  else  it  displays  a  most 
perverse  obliquity  of  observation.  Undoubtedly  it 
inust  be  allowed,  that  the  moral  atmosphere  of 
Paris  is  not  of  the  purest ;  but  yet  the  injustice  of 
such  a  sweeping  observation  as  the  foregoing  is  too 
palpable  to  be  for  a  moment  admitted. 

Let  us  briefly  follow  out  the  education  of  the 
demoiselle  of  good  family.  At  an  early  age  she  is 
sent  to  the  convent  or  pension,  where  her  time  is 
passed  in  what  we  should  term  rigid  seclusion. 
She  is  permitted  no  society  from  without,  save  that 
of  her  nearest  relations,  and  even  this  is  enjoyed 
but  rarely ;  she  is  never  allowed  to  leave  her  abode, 


THE  MAID  AND  THE  MATRON.  321 

even  for  the  healthful  promenade,  without  being 
under  direct  surveillance.  Even  that  degree  of  in- 
timacy, which,  with  us,  is  considered  as  existing 
with  perfect  propriety  between  the  young  of  both 
sexes,  in  France  is  especially  interdicted  by  the 
imperious  convenance  of  society.  Thus  passes  the 
time  until  the  young  lady  attains  her  sixteenth  or 
seventeenth  year ;  she  is  then  freed  from  the  dis- 
cipline of  schools  to  reenter  the  paternal,  or  rather 
maternal  mansion,  and  prepare  for  embarking  in 
such  matrimonial  alliance  as  her  parents  shall  have 
agreed  upon.  In  the  consummation  of  this  impor- 
tant affair,  the  voice  of  the  party  most  interested 
has  but  trifling  weight ;  her  heart  has  had  but  little 
opportunity  of  entangling  itself,  and  is  presumed  to 
be  free.  The  young  lady  herself  is  seldom  reluc- 
tant to  pass  the  Rubicon  that  intervenes  between 
the  critical  epoch  of  girlhood  and  the  less  equivocal 
state  of  matron.  In  a  word,  she  is  seldom  averse 
to  purchasing  liberty  even  at  the  expense  of  a  hus- 
band. Should  she  prove  at  first  unreasonable 
enough  to  demur  at  accepting  a  man,  whom  in  her 
life  she  has  seen  perchance  but  twice,  her  romantic 
objections  are  usually  in  the  end  overruled  by  pa- 
rental authority.  The  match  is  so  advantageous  ;  — 
a  title,  wealth,  or  political  influence,  spring  from  the 
intended  union.  She  yields  at  length  to  the  sup- 
posed infallibility  of  her  advisers,  and  acquiesces  in 
all,  as  her  mother  and  grandmother  did  before  her. 
From  this  moment  her  liberty  commences ;  the 
Opera,  the  Assembly,  the  Card-Table,  supervene 
to  divert  the  ennui  of  married  life ;  the  parties 
41 


322  PARIS. 

understand  each  other  indifferently  well,  and  the 
7nari  knows,  that,  if  his  own  course  be  that  of  a 
roue,  he  can  calculate  but  little  upon  the  discretion 
of  his  wife. 

I  have  taken  as  the  subject  of  the  foregoing 
remarks,  the  demoiselle  of  good  family  and  standing. 
After  casting  a  glance  over  the  inferior  orders  of 
Parisian  society,  the  writer  would  scarcely  attempt 
the  difficult  and  hazardous  task  of  defending  their 
moral  character. 

Beside  the  prodigious  number  of  unfortunates, 
who  earn  their  bread  in  a  manner  humanity  shud- 
ders at,  there  are  thousands  of  a  better  class,  such 
as  grisettes,  modistes,  &c.,  who,  driven  by  absolute 
necessity  (so  poorly  is  female  labor  recompensed  in 
France),  and  despairing,  from  their  situation,  of  mat- 
rimony, are  seldom  without  their  amans,  to  whom, 
indeed,  they  have  the  character  of  being  faithful. 
Yet,  though  all  this  must  be  admitted,  there  is  not 
in  Paris  one  quarter  part  of  the  disgusting  immoral- 
ity and  vice,  that  disgrace  the  lower  orders  of 
society  in  London.  What  a  picture  is  presented 
of  the  condition  of  those  classes  by  the  author  of 
the  "  Great  Metropolis."  In  Paris,  if  sensuality 
do,  to  a  certain  extent,  prevail,  it  is  divested  at 
least  of  those  horrible  adjuncts,  inebriation  and 
profaneness.  The  gin  palace  does  not  distribute  its 
death-dealing  potions,  and  vice,  though  ever  de- 
formed, is  here  stripped  of  much  of  its  grossness. 

Any  one  who  has  resided  a  length  of  time  in  the 
larger  capitals  of  Europe,  where  the  wealth  is 
almost  entirely  in  the  hands  of  a  small  portion  of 


A  GLANCE  AT  THE  LOWER  CLASSES.  323 

the  community,  leaving  vast  numbers  not  even  the 
means  of  obtaining  iioiiestlj  a  scanty  and  precarious 
subsistence,  and  where,  too,  the  distinctions  which 
the  artificial  state  of  society  gives  birth  too,  are 
imperious  and  insuperable  ; — any  one,  who  has  had 
the  opportunity  of  observing  all  this,  may  regret, 
indeed,  but  cannot  wonder  at,  the  dark  pictures  of 
wretchedness  and  crime  the  large  cities  of  Europe 
so  constantly  unfold  to  the  eye  ;  and  then,  too,  in 
extenuation,  one  must  take  into  view  the  total 
neglect  of  education,  another  curse  which  is  almost 
irremediably  entailed  upon  them.  But  few,  among 
the  classes  of  whom  1  speak,  can  read  or  write,  or 
have  other  ideas  of  the  Supreme  Being,  or  the 
nature  of  religion,  than  such  as  spring  from  the 
most  debasing  superstitions.  On  materials  such  as 
these,  can  Virtue  erect  unto  herself  a  Temple  ? 
Let  us  examine  before  we  condemn. 

Divorces  are  obtained  with  much  difficulty  in 
France,  and  even  conjugal  infidelity  is  held  as  in- 
adequate to  annul  the  marriage  vow.  The  contract- 
ing parties  do  in  fact  take  each  other  for  better  or 
for  worse,  and,  as  they  are  seldom  romantic  enough 
to  stake  their  sum  total  of  happiness  on  the  cast 
of  a  die,  there  seems  generally  to  ensue,  —  let 
fortune  do  her  worst,  —  a  degree  of  philosophic 
indifference,  preferable  surely  to  the  violent  ex- 
treme. 

The  French  language  is  rich  in  the  warm  phrase- 
ology that  depicts  the  passion  of  love  ;  but  I  am 
conversant  with  no  phrase  that  aptly  renders  our 
"  domestic  comfort,"    or  one   that  conveys  in    its 


324  PARIS. 

full  force  the  magic  of  "  Home."  The  very  bar- 
renness of  the  language  in  this  respect  is  proof 
enough  of  itself,  that  the  genius  of  the  people  is 
but  little  inclined  to  the  enjoyment  of  that  quiet 
felicity,  to  which  Hymen  is  supposed  to  set  the  seal. 

I  was  somewhat  amused  at  the  naivete  of  a 
response  that  was  mentioned  to  me  as  having  been 
rendered  by  a  jeune  et  belle  mariee  to  her  expostu- 
lating mari ;  "  Mais,  monsieur,^^  exclaims  the  un- 
convinced beauty,  "  que  vous  etes  dtraisonnable ! 
Je  suis  jeune  et  sans  experience,  et  enjin  que  voulez 
vous  que  je  fasse  ?  "  The  piquancy  of  the  origin- 
al is  lost  in  attempting  its  translation. 

In  concluding  my  brief  remarks  upon  this  sub- 
ject, I  must  add,  that  the  standard  of  morality,  mal- 
gre  the  assertions  of  splenetic  travellers,  is  higher 
in  France  than  in  Spain  or  Italy,  or  those  districts 
of  Central  and  Southern  Europe,  in  general,  where 
the  same  religion  prevails. 

In  the  domestic  history  of  all  nations  professing 
the  Roman  Catholic  Faith,  intrigue  forms  ever  a 
prominent  feature.  The  Confessional,  with  its 
abuses ;  the  purchased  absolution,  with  the  secret, 
unhallowed  instigation  of  that  numerous  and  influ- 
ential body,  whose  duty  it  should  be  to  keep  salu- 
tary guardianship  over  the  morals  of  the  mass,  aided 
by  the  lamentable  ignorance  and  superstition  that 
prevail  among  the  middling  and  lower  classes,  — 
must  necessarily  exert  a  most  efficient  agency  in 
impairing  the  moral  constitution  of  society. 

Happy  is  it  for  Protestant  America,  that  she  glo- 
riously commenced  where  paused  in  the   work  of 


PROTESTANT  AMERICA.  325 

reformation  the  most  enlightened  nation  of  the  Old 
World.  Happy,  thrice  happy  is  it  for  her,  that  she 
has  been  enabled,  from  the  first,  to  pursue  the 
cheering  and  enlightened  course,  pointed  out  by 
the  finger  of  the  true  faith.  It  is  her  rare  good 
fortune  to  enjoy  the  rich  blessings  of  religious  free- 
dom and  liberty  of  conscience.  May  these  privi- 
leges never  in  their  abuse  lead  on  to  license. 

Firm  and  lasting  may  the  beautiful  fabric  of  our 
glorious  Constitution  proudly  uprear  itself  to  con- 
vince the  world,  that  an  educated  people,  whose 
measures  are  the  result  of  a  wise  and  enlightened 
policy,  are  fully  capable  of  governing  themselves. 
May  it,  in  a  word,  be  reserved  for  us  to  show,  that 
the  healthy  existence  of  a  Republic  is  no  anomaly 
in  the  history  of  Nations. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

Various  Objects  of  Interest.  —  St  Cloud.  —  Les  deux  Trianons.  — 
Swiss  Cottages.  — Montmorency.  —  Departure  from  Paris.  —  Havre. 

—  Passage  in  the  Apollo.  —  Arrival  at  Portsmouth.  —  Police  Ex- 
amination.—  Visit  to  the  Packet  Office.  —  The  Victory  and  Lord 
Nelson.  —  Journey  to  London.  —  The  Ascot  Races.  —  Visits  to 
the  Zoological  Gardens  and  other  Places  of  Interest.  —  The  Duke 
of  Wellington.  —  Theatres  and  Actors.  —  Acting  of  Madame  Mali- 
bran  in  the  Maid  of  Artois.  —  Concert  for  her  Husband's  Benefit. 

—  Her  Success  at  the  Concert.  —  Anecdote  in  Connexion  with  this 
celebrated  Singer.  —  Her  Personal  Appearance.  —  English  Hospi- 
tality. —  The  Well-bred  Englishman  described.  —  His  National 
Fierte.  —  Remarks  on  his  Reserve.  —  English  Travellers.  —  De- 
parture from  England.  —  Reflections  on  England  and  America. 

Before  bidding  adieu  to  Paris  and  its  imme- 
diate vicinitj,  I  had  intended  embracing  within 
my  remarks  a  description  of  St.  Cloud,  and  its 
graceful  Chateau,  set  off  by  the  picturesque  beauty 
of  its  site,  and  the  romantic  environs,  amid  which 
it  reposes,  laved  by  the  placid  waters  of  the  Seine. 
I  might  also  have  dwelt  upon  the  costly,  though 
heavy  magnificence  of  that  palace,  which  recalls 
the  palmiest  days  of  the  Bourbon,  the  splendid  era 
of  Louis  "  Le  Grand" ;  I  might  have  wandered 
with  the  courteous  reader  through  the  groves 
and  shaded  walks  of  the  royal  garden,  or  re- 
clined upon  the  grassy  couch,  protected  from  the 
rays  of  an  ardent  sun  by  the  grateful  umbrage  of 
those  waving  and  stately  trees,  which  owned  in 
their  infancy  the  care  of  a  beautiful  and  ill-starred 
Queen. 


LES   DEUX  TRIANONS.  —  SWISS   COTTAGES.       327 

I  would  have  visited  with  him  les  deux  Tria- 
no7is,  and  admired,  in  the  statelier  one,  a  pile,  which 
the  Kojal  Lover  caused  to  rise  at  the  caprice  of  a 
Maintenon  ;  or  dwelt  in  the  other  with  deeper  in- 
terest over  the  relics,  that  recall  the  image  of  the 
Imperial  Josephine.  In  his  fair  company  would  I 
have  wandered  among  the  Swiss  cottages,*  or  by 
the  borders  of  the  artificial  lake,  or,  perchance,  with 
admiring  thousands,  have  witnessed  the  lofty  rise 
of  those  jets  d^eaux^  whose  occasional  play  sum- 
mons the  world  of  Paris  to  Versailles. 

Or  on  the  opposite  extreme,  remote  from  palaces 
and  splendor,  might  I  have  courted  the  sweet  soli- 
tude that  clings  around  thy  vales,  rich  in  treasured 
reminiscences,  romantic  Montmorency.  The  author 
of  the  "  Heloise  "  has  thrown  the  mantle  of  per- 
petuity over  thy  name.  The  Hermitage  still  stands, 
where  were  traced   his  deathless  conceptions,  and 

*  The  gardens  of  the  Lesser  Trianon  arc  arranged  with  much 
taste  and  elegance.  The  visiter  who  roams  over  the  picturesque  and 
shaded  walks,  that  thread  their  wide  extent,  will  every  where  meet 
with  objects  that  charm  the  eye  and  interest  the  feelings.  Here  rises, 
in  its  airy  beauty,  the  Grecian  Temple, fit  habitation  for  the  "breathing 
marble  "  that  embellishes  it ;  further  on  you  behold  the  aitificial  rock, 
piled  in  fantastic  masses,  and  ever  damp  from  the  spray  of  the  foam- 
ing cascade.  Wherever  the  eye  turns  in  this  magic  domain,  it  will 
encounter  the  traces  of  a  refined  and  luxurious  age.  Not  the  least 
prominent  among  the  objects  of  interest,  in  the  garden,  are  several  cot- 
tages, built  after  the  Swiss  fashion,  where,  wearied  with  the  cumber- 
some splendor  of  Versailles,  Louis  the  Fifteenth  was  accustomed  to 
repair  with  Madame  la  Marquise  de  Pompadour.  The  fair  Marchio- 
ness was  attu-ed  li  la  laitUre,  and  the  ladies  of  the  Couit  costumed 
in  character :  thus  attended,  would  the  dissolute  Monarch  of  France 
pass  merrily  away  the  hours,  forgetful  alike  of  the  splendor  of  a  Court, 
and  of  the  cares  that  environ  a  Crown. 


328  PARIS.  — ADIEUS. 

the  visiter  may  yet  pace  along  the  walks  of  that 
garden,  where  Jean-Jaques  was  wont  to  lose  sight 
of  the  actual  world,  in  worshipjDing  the  ideal,  —  and 
where  also  reposes  the  heart  of  a  Gretry. 

Such,  indeed,  were  my  intentions  ;  but  the  allure- 
ments of  Paris  have  trespassed  too  largely  upon  my 
time  and  limits  to  allow  their  being  put  into  effect. 
And  now  I  wave  mes  tristes  adieux  to  the  city  of 
cities,  though  I  trust  not  for  aye.  Blast  indeed  were 
the  man,  who  could  take  his  final  leave  of  a  capi- 
tal so  rich  in  all  that  appertains  to  the  arts  and 
sciences,  as  well  as  to  the  elegances  of  life,  with- 
out an  emotion  akin  to  sorrow ;  and  now  a  feeling 
of  that  nature  stole  over  me,  as,  passing  the  last 
barrier,  I  leaned  back  in  the  carriage,  and  reflect- 
ed upon  those  days  past,  that  seemed  to  have 
flitted  by  me  as  a  vision,  and  upon  those  which 
were  to  succeed.  The  rolling  vehicle  was  rapidly 
shortening  the  distance  that  intervened  between 
the  traveller  and  his  port  of  final  embarkation,  and 
soon  I  should  be  tossing  on  that  pathless  Ocean 
whose  unfathomable  billow  laves  alike  the  shores 
of  every  mighty  Continent. 

We  arrived  safely  at  Havre,  and  immediately 
engaged  passage  in  the  steamboat  Apollo,  for 
Portsmouth.  The  hours  that  intervened  between 
the  time  of  our  arrival  and  that  of  the  vessel's  sail- 
ing, were  passed  by  my  friend  and  myself  in  making 
calls  upon  bankers,  arranging  our  luggage,  and  dis- 
cussing the  last  continental  dinner.  At  six  P.  M., 
the  Apollo  got  under  weigh,  and  landed  us  in  good 
season  the  ensuing  morning  at  Portsmouth,  with- 


POLICE   EXAMINATION.  329 

out  Other  mishap  than  some  slight  symptoms  of 
uneasiness,  signifying  sea-sickness.  Upon  land- 
ing, we  were  en  masse  accosted  by  a  police  officer, 
who  desired  to  know  if  there  were  foreigners  in 
the  company,  and,  specifically,  if  there  were  any 
American  gentlemen.  A  hint  from  my  more  ex- 
perienced friend,  induced  me  to  preserve  silence  up- 
on this  subject.  The  American,  upon  arriving  from 
the  Continent,  at  a  British  port,  is  liable  to  suffer 
both  inconvenience  and  delay  from  attention  to  cer- 
tain tedious  forms  to  be  gone  through.  The  officers 
are  by  no  means  particular  in  examining  your  ef- 
fects. They  appear  to  be  an  excellent-hearted  set 
of  fellows,  and  the  tender  of  a  few  shillings  is,  with 
them,  a  first-rate  passport,  even  for  a  suspicious 
wardrobe.  We  took  lodgings  at  the  "  Fountain," 
a  very  tolerable  Inn  for  a  place  de  garnison;  and 
having  duly  prefaced  the  day  with  such  refresh- 
ment as  mine  host  of  the  "  Fountain "  deemed 
proper  to  offer,  commenced  our  work  with  a  visit 
to  the  packet  office.  The  packet  of  the  first,  a 
new  and  crack  ship,  was  full.  Her  captain,  learn- 
ing that  we  had  intended  taking  passage  in  his 
ship,  politely  offered  us  the  use  of  his  own  state- 
room ;  but  we  concluded  it  would  be  the  better 
course  to  visit  the  Capital,  and  there  await  the  sail- 
ing of  the  next  packet.  One  day  was  passed 
pleasantly  in  Portsmouth,  —  a  portion  of  it  in  ply- 
ing about  the  harbour  and  roadstead,  and  admiring 
the  huge  ships  of  war.  Among  others  we  had  the 
satisfaction  of  pacing  the  "Victory's  deck."  There 
42 


330  PORTSMOUTH.  — ARRIVAL   IN   LONDON. 

is  here  an  inscription   carved  upon   a    brass   plate 
marking  the  spot  where  Lord  Nelson  fell. 

What  a  glorious  death  was  his,  to  fall  in  the 
arms  of  Victory,  as  she  encircled  the  brows  of  her 
favorite  son  with  the  bright  wreath  of  glory  that 
shall  never  fade  !  England's  greatest  Admiral  clos- 
ing his  brilliant  career  amid  the  thunder  of  artil- 
lery, that  announced  the  most  stupendous  conquest 
in  the  annals  of  naval  warfare,  and  cementing  with 
his  blood  an  unwritten  treaty,  which  should  arro- 
gate to  his  country  the  proud  supremacy  of  the 
seas,  —  could  the  hero  desire  a  fate  more  enviable  ? 

The  next  day  we  took  our  seats  in  the  early 
coach  for  London.  The  distance  (about  seventy 
miles)  was  accomplished  in  a  little  more  than  seven 
hours ;  and  once  again,  after  an  interval  of  twelve 
months,  I  was  rolling  along  the  crowded  streets 
of  that  proud  Capital,  that  issues  its  laws  to  the 
whole  Commercial  World.  It  was  then  about  the 
commencement  of  the  month  of  June;  all  the 
world,  as  the  French  say,  were  pouring  into  the 
capital,  and  the  "  London  season "  was  rapidly 
approaching  to  its  zenith. 

A  day  or  two  after  my  arrival,  the  Ascot  Races 
took  place.  They  were  fashionably  attended  by 
the  nobility  and  gentry.  The  whole  scene,  with 
the  gay  assemblage  redolent  of  the  true  bon  ton, 
—  the  splendid  array  of  equipages,  —  and  then,  too, 
the  liveried  grooms  with  their  beautifully  condi- 
tioned animals,  —  presented  a  brilliant  coup  cVcbU. 

For  myself,  as  there  were  but  few  days  at 
my  disposal,  I  resolved  to  crowd  as  much  as  pos- 


OCCUPATIONS  OF   A   DAY.  331 

sible  into  the  brief  period  of  time  which  was  to 
limit  my  sojourn  in  "  merrj  England."  Of  a  fine 
morning  I  promenaded  along  the  trotfoirs  of  Re- 
gent or  Oxford  street,  to  catch  a  glance  at  the 
beau  monde,  and  especially  at  the  belles  dames,  who 
were  rolling  along  in  their  luxurious  carriages ;  or 
I  summoned  a  cabriolet  and  drove  to  the  Zoological 
Gardens,  where  I  got  rid  of  an  hour  or  two  pleas- 
antly enough  in  admiring  the  once  wild  denizens 
of  the  pathless  forest :  or,  when  weary  of  that, 
in  observins:  the  fashionable  mob  of  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  who  repair  to  this  spot  as  a  general 
rendezvous,  to  look  and  be  looked  at.  On  one 
day  I  visited  St.  Paul's,  and  took  a  glance  at  the 
huge  city  from  its  lofty  Ball ;  upon  another  I 
roamed  through  the  apartments  of  that  blood-stain- 
ed Tower,  that  recalls  the  sanguinary  days  of  the 
Tudor,  or  I  mused  amid  the  time-hallowed  clois- 
ters of  that  venerable  pile,  which  a  grateful  na- 
tion has  consecrated  to  the  memory  of  Departed 
Genius. 

Of  a  Sunday  I  took  a  turn  in  Hyde-Park,  —  on 
that  day  of  the  week,  the  focus  where  the  rays 
of  Fashion  concentrate.  The  last  time  I  visited 
the  Park,  it  was  my  good  fortune  to  behold  the 
most  remarkable  man  of  the  present  day  (Talley- 
rand alone  excepted),  —  I  mean  the  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington. His  Grace  was  on  foot,  and  plainly  hab- 
ited in  a  blue  frock  coat,  with  white  trowsers. 
The  appearance  of  this  celebrated  personage  is 
thoroughly  aristocratic ;  and  there  is  in  his  coun- 
tenance that  indefinable  air  noble,  which  well  be- 


332  LONDON. 

comes  a  man  whom  Providence  has  selected  to 
humble  the  master-spirit  of  an  age.  In  height 
His  Grace  must  be  about  five  feet,  nine  inches, 
with  a  person  inclining  to  the  slender,  but  per- 
fectly soldierlike  and  erect. 

I  have  said  what  were  my  principal  occupations 
during  the  day.  In  the  evening,  after  that  im- 
portant consideration,  dinner,  had  been  duly  dis- 
cussed, I  looked  in  at  the  theatres.  The  dram- 
atic world  at  that  time  was  in  full  blast ;  at 
Covent  Garden  there  was  Macready,  backed  by 
Sergeant  Talfourd's  "  Ion,"  while  its  sister  tem- 
ple of  the  Muses  was  nightly  crowded  to  ex- 
cess, and  with  good  reason,  —  the  greatest  musical 
wonder  of  our  day,  the  transcendant  Malibran,  was 
there. 

She  was  just  appearing  in  a  new  and  success- 
ful opera,  composed  or  compiled  expressly  for  her, 
by  Balfe,  an  English  writer  of  music ;  its  title  was 
"  The  Maid  of  Artois."  I  had  the  pleasure  of  be- 
holding Malibran  three  times  in  this  Opera;  her 
delivery  of  the  music  was  replete  with  the  most 
exquisite  sweetness  and  melody ;  and  her  acting, 
now  so  gently  feminine,  would,  as  the  progress  of 
the  piece  called  for  a  display  of  more  passionate 
feeling,  at  intervals  absolutely  electrify  you  by  its 
startling  energy.  Her  execution  of  the  difficult 
finale,  commencing  with 

"  The  rapture  dwelling  in  this  breast," 

was  beyond  comparison  the  most  perfect   and  ef- 
fective musical  performance  I  had  ever  listened  to. 
As   I   think  any  thing  relating  to  the  later  ex- 


A   LONDON  MORNING   CONCERT.  333 

hibitions  of  this  celebrated  Singer,  now  passed 
away  like  a  dream,  will  not  be  devoid  of  in- 
terest to  the  general  reader,  I  shall  offer  no  apol- 
ogy for  entering  somewhat  into  detail  upon  the 
subject  of  a  Concert,  at  which  she  sang  for  her 
husband's  benefit,  and  which  constituted,  probably, 
the  greatest  musical  treat  of  that  nature,  ever 
offered  to  the  London  public. 

The  talent  enlisted  upon  this  occasion  was  un- 
precedented. Besides  the  unrivalled  heroine,  there 
was  Mademoiselle  Giulia  Grisi,  second  only  to  her. 
There  was  Lablaclie  with  his  voice  of  thunder  ; 
there  was  Rubini's  delicious  tenor ;  there  were 
Tamburini  and  Ivanhoff,  with  others  whose  names 
Fame  had  less  trumpeted.  On  the  violin  there 
was  De  Beriot,  than  whom  none  could  elicit  from 
the  chords  more  touching  strains,  save  that  arch- 
magician  of  fiddlers,  Paganini ;  —  Henri  Herz,  and 
the  German  Thalberg,  acknowledged  the  most 
eminent  pianists  in  Europe,  swept  the  keys  of  a 
magnificent  double  instrument. 

The  price  of  the  tickets  for  this  Concert  (a 
morning  one  in  the  London  acceptation,  that  is, 
commencing  at  2  P.  M.)  was  a  guinea  each,  being 
double  the  usual  sum.  The  exhibition  took  place 
at  the  Concert  Room  of  the  King's  Theatre.  Be- 
fore the  appointed  hour,  the  large  hall  was  en- 
tirely filled,  and  the  outer  doors  absolutely  throng- 
ed with  baffled  applicants  for  places.  I  paid  my 
twenty-one  shillings,  and,  for  lack  of  other  place, 
secured  a  position  upon  the  stage,  where  I  remained 
standing  during  the  whole  performance.    My  posi- 


334  LONDON. 

tion,  however,  was  not  without  its  advantages,  for  it 
afforded  me  a  near  view  of  all  the  celebrated  vir- 
tuosi of  the  Italian  stage,  and  of  Malibran  herself. 
I  remember  hearing  this  accomplished  singer 
converse  upon  that  day  in  four  different  languages, 
—  French,  Italian,  English,  and  German,  —  in 
three  of  which  she  could  sing  with  equal  effect. 
The  bijou  of  the  concert  was  a  duetto  between 
Mademoiselle  Grisi  and  herself,  from  Rossini's 
brilliant  music  ;  in  the  execution  of  this  piece,  Ma- 
dame Malibran  let  loose  the  luxuriance  of  her  in- 
ventive fancy,  and  electrified  her  audience  with 
the  most  brilliant  roulades  and  cadenzas.  The 
other  lady  wisely  attempted  not  to  follow  her 
rapid  course,  for  the  attempt  even  there  must  have 
involved  a  failure. 

In  the  tones  of  Malibran  there  would  at  times 
be  developed  a  deep  and  trembling  pathos,  that, 
rushing  from  the  very  fountain  of  the  heart,  thril- 
led instinctively  upon  a  responsive  chord  in  the 
bosoms  of  all.  This  it  was,  even  more  than  her 
wonderful  execution  or  unequalled  power,  that 
gave  her  such  mastery  over  the  feelings.  In  her 
performance  of  "  Amina,"  in  Bellini's  beautiful 
Opera,  La  Somnambida,  —  who  could  listen  to 
those  passionate,  imploring,  thrilling  notes  of  min- 
gled love  and  anguish,  without  being  affected  even 
unto  tears  ? 

But  to  resume  our  subject.  The  concert  did  not 
conclude  until  after  five  o'clock.  Madame  Malibran 
sang  many  different  pieces,  and  there  were  several 
repetitions.     At  the  conclusion  of  her  last  aria  she 


MADAME  MALIBRAN.  335 

hastily  quitted  the  room,  amid  the  busy  murmur 
of  acclamation.  The  interest  of  the  occasion  was 
now  gone.  I  left  the  theatre  of  sweet  sounds 
behind  me,  and  entered  to  a  moment  the  apart- 
ment appropriated  to  the  singers.  There  were 
present  only,  beside  myself,  De  Beriot,  and  a 
brother  musician,  and  Madame  Malibran,  who  had 
just  seated  herself  in  a  chair;  almost  upon  the 
instant,  overcome  with  fatigue  and  excitement, 
she  had  fainted  away.  De  Beriot  turned  with 
great  sang  froid  to  the  other,  who  was  Thalberg, 
the  noted  pianist,  and  merely  observing,  with  much 
indifference,  "  El/e  a  chante  tant,^^  gave  himself  no 
further  trouble.  His  companion  threw  up  the 
window,  procured  cold  water,  and  soon  she  return- 
ed to  consciousness ;  her  first  question,  tenderly 
expressed,  "  Oii  est  Carl,^^  seemed  to  me  in  striking 
contrast  with  the  indifference  of  him,  who  evidently 
occupied  the  first  place  in  her  awakening  thoughts. 
The  slight  incident  I  have  mentioned,  might, 
from  its  intrinsic  unimportance,  have  slipped  my 
memory,  had  not  the  subsequent  melancholy  fate  of 
her  to  whom  it  related,  tended  to  impress  it  deeply 
upon  my  mind.  There  are  many  doubtless  among 
us,  who  well  recollect  that  bright  creature,  the 
Signorina  Garcia,  with  her  attractive  person,  and 
her  even  then  acknowledged  talents ;  but  for  those 
who  do  not,  I  shall  merely  observe,  in  conclusion, 
that  Madame  Malibran  was  in  person  a  little  below 
the  middle  size,  with  the  just  and  graceful  degree 
of  embonpoint ;  her  hair,  which,  at  the  time  I  saw 
her,  she  wore  smoothly  combed  over  the  head,  from 


336  LONDON. 

whence  it  fell  in  masses  upon  the  snowy  neck,  was 
black  and  glossy  as  is  the  plumage  on  the  raven's 
wing.  Her  eyes  were  those  dark,  expressive  orbs, 
that  we  gaze  upon  as  indicating  the  fatal  possession 
of  genius.  Her  teeth  were  beautifully  white  and 
regular,  and  her  whole  countenance,  with  its  pen- 
sive, and  at  times  melancholy  expression,  possessed 
a  something  of  indefinable  interest  and  attraction. 

It  is  by  no  means  my  intention  here  to  enter  into 
the  details  of  London  life,  neither  shall  I  attempt 
to  particularize  the  numerous  curiosities  of  the 
Metropolis,  or  point  out  its  various  avenues  to 
pleasure  or  profit.  Even  were  I  to  attempt  the 
task,  my  pen,  inadequately  guided  by  personal  ex- 
perience, could  only  fail  in  doing  justice  to  the 
theme. 

It  is  certainly  difficult  for  a  foreigner,  unless  a 
long  residence  in  the  country,  and  peculiar  advan- 
tages, have  afforded  him  opportunities  denied  to 
the  transient  traveller,  to'  collect  from  his  own 
immediate  observation  other  than  a  very  superficial 
knowledge,  both  with  respect  to  the  capital  and 
the  country  at  large.  If  it  were  necessary,  ample 
proof  might  be  adduced  to  strengthen  my  assertion, 
in  the  unsatisfactory  accounts  relative  to  England 
and  the  English  given  us  by  modern  travellers  of 
our  own  as  well  as  of  other  countries  ;  for,  not- 
withstanding all  that  has  been  written  on  the  sub- 
ject, a  standard  work  of  travels  throughout  the 
kingdom  of  Great  Britain,  is  yet  a  desideratum  in 
the  circle  of  American  literature. 

There  is,  however,  one  remark  that  my  personal 


THE  WELL-BRED  ENGLISHiMAN.  337 

experience  will  allow  me  to  make,  and  it  is  this : 
whatever  may  be  the  extent  of  national  preju- 
dice, nowhere  is  hospitality  more  freely  extended 
to  the  American,  individually,  than  in  the  British 
Isles.  During  my  two  visits  to  London,  I  do  not 
recollect  of  hearing  from  any  quarter  so  much  as 
an  allusion  tending  even  indirectly  to  injure  the 
nicest  national  pride  ;  on  the  contrary,  while  there, 
I  never  heard  our  country  spoken  of  in  other  terms 
than  those  of  respect  and  admiration. 

Let  us  glance  for  a  moment  at  the  more  imme- 
diately prominent  traits  in  the  character  of  the 
well-bred  Englishman.  In  the  first  place,  we  ob- 
serve a  full  share  of  national  fierte  ;  but  is  that  to 
be  wondered  at,  in  the  conscious  citizen  of  a  coun- 
try, which,  by  the  mere  force  of  its  moral  energies, 
has  achieved  more  glorious  results  than  any  other 
since  the  imperial  eagles  of  Rome  humbled  a  world? 
And  even  now  has  Great  Britain  more  cause  of 
triumph  than  ever  ;  as,  turning  her  eyes  from  those 
extended  dominions,  upon  which  the  Sun  never 
sets,  she  beholds,  across  the  heaving  Atlantic,  the 
proud  scion,  that,  lopped  as  it  were  but  a  day  since 
in  the  life  of  nations,  from  the  parent  tree,  now 
shoots  heavenward  its  majestic  branches,  and. 
Banian-like,  multiplying  indefinitely  itself,  em- 
braces a  Continent,  and  laves  its  boughs  in  either 
ocean. 

The  Englishman  is  not  a  little  censured  by 
foreigners  on  the  ground  of  his  being  reserved  and 
difficult  of  access.  At  the  first  dawn  of  an  ac- 
quaintance, perhaps  this  may  be  true ;  but,  let  me 
43 


338  LONDON. 

ask,  must  not  this  result  ever  obtain  in  old  aris- 
tocratic countries,  where  the  nice  shades  of  dis- 
tinction between  man  and  man  are  so  accurately 
drawn.  If  this  reserve  be  a  fault  (and  I  for  one 
am  unwilling  to  concede  that  it  is),  it  is  not  the 
fault  of  the  man,  but  rather  of  the  spirit  of  the 
government  under  which  he  lives.  In  England, 
to  be  a  gentleman  by  birth,  feeling,  and  education, 
is  among  the  proudest  of  distinctions ;  and  the 
greatest  care  is  observed  in  maintaining  the  pure 
ancestral  escutcheon  free  from  aught  like  stain. 
Hence  naturally  results  a  caution,  which  by  the 
superficial  is  mistaken  for  hauteur. 

There  is  yet  another  more  immediate  reason  for 
the  reserve,  that  prevails  among  the  higher  classes 
of  English  society.  London,  that  huge  Babylon  of 
the  modern  world,  breeds  amid  its  numerous  pur- 
lieus a  swarm  of  those  chevaliers  dHndustrie,  who, 
under  the  guise  and  address  of  gentlemen,  are 
ever  ready  to  entrap  the  unwary.  To  guard 
against  the  attacks  of  this  numerous  clique,  an  un- 
deviating  course  is  pursued  by  the  English  gentry ; 
a  satisfactory  introduction  is  the  only  necessary 
passport ;  —  that  given,  you  will  have  no  cause  to 
complain  of  distance,  or  lack  of  hospitality,  in  the 
English  gentleman. 

I  think  I  may  say,  both  from  personal  expe- 
rience and  observation,  that,  when  an  acquaintance 
has  ripened  into  intimacy  and  esteem,  you  can  no- 
where find  that  courteous  affability,  so  characteris- 
tic of  the  well-bred  man,  united  with  the  sincere 
devotion  we  look   for    in  a    friend,   more    proudly 


ENGLISH   TRAVELLERS.  339 

prominent  than  in  the  character  of  the  Englishman. 
These  remarks  must  be  understood  as  ajjplying 
almost  exclusively  to  the  Englishman  at  home; 
upon  those  you  encounter  abroad,  the  same  flat- 
tering eulogium  cannot  with  justice  be  pronounced. 

Now  that  a  long  peace  has  opened  the  various 
states  of  Europe  to  the  multitudes  of  English,  the 
class  of  tourists  are  by  no  means  of  the  same  cal- 
ibre as  that  immediately  posterior  to  the  stirring 
events  of  1813;  —  now  that  every  one  travels,  trav- 
elling  consequently  is  no  longer  foshionable. 

At  present,  Englishmen  of  rank  and  influence, 

for  the  most  part,  remain  at  home  ;  or,  when  they 

do  visit  the  Continent,  it  is  in  a  manner  that  serves 

as  an  eflectual  barrier  between  them  and  the  herd. 

The  great  mass  of  the  English  who  now  cross  the 

channel,  for  a  few  months  scjuur  in  Boulogne,  or  a 

saunter  th;ough    the    Palais    Royal    and  salons  of 

Paris,    are    rather    dilapidated    personages,    whose 

slender  incomes,  and  perhaps  slenderer  reputations, 

render  it  advisable  to  bid  adieu  for  a  time  to  their 

natal  soil.    In  the  keeping  of  this  class,  the  English 

reputation  on  the  Continent  has  much  degenerated, 

since  the  proud  epoch,  referred  to  above,  when  the 

very  name  of  un  monsieur  Anglais  conjured  up  to 

the   delighted   inn-keeper's  fancy,  the    image  of  a 

Milord  rolling  in  gold,  and  taking  his  ease  in  the 

luxurious  travelling-carriage,  surrounded  by  a  garde 

de  corps  of  liveried  outriders.     But  after  all,  a  few 

exceptions  to   the  general  rule  cannot  impugn   my 

position  ;  neither  was  it  to  these  classes,  such  as  I 

have  described  them,   that  my  remarks  had  refer- 


340        THE  LAND  OF  OUR  ANCESTORS. 

ence.     In  all  civilized  countries  the  vulgar  and  un- 
educated are  essentially  the  same. 

And  now,  adieu  to  thee,  merry  England  !  —  thy 
bold  shores  will  soon  recede  from  my  view,  but  the 
swelling  surge  that  bears  me  onward  can  efface 
nought  of  thy  treasured  recollection.  Proud  as  the 
American  is,  and  ought  to  be,  of  the  lofty  position 
his  yet  infant  republic  has  assumed  amid  the  wide- 
extended  family  of  nations,  should  he  be  less  so 
of  the  noble  stock  from  which  he  originally 
sprung  ?  In  the  rising  glory  of  the  present,  he 
will  not  forget  the  7iohle  land  of  his  ancestry.  In 
his  heart  of  hearts  he  will  preserve  enshrined  the 
memory  of  her  gallant  sons,  who  have  so  often  shed 
their  blood  in  support  of  the  holy  faith  he  profess- 
es, who  have  never  failed  in  the  hour  of  need  to 
step  forward  and  interpose  their  lives  between  the 
liberties  of  Christendom  and  its  foes.  May  it  be 
the  glory  of  our  republic  to  follow  out  the  noble 
course  thou  hast  opened  for  the  general  ameliora- 
tion of  mankind.     Once  more  adieu,  — 


Our  gallant  bark  has  ploughed  her  onward  track 
across  the  swelling  bosom  of  the  mysterious  ocean. 
Already  the  green  hills  of  my  own  native  land 
blend  with  the  distant  horizon.  How  dances  the 
blood  with  exultation,  as  opens  to  the  eye  each  un- 
forgotten  scene  ! 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Reflections  on  the  Effects  and  Advantages  of  foreign  Travel. 

Months  have  passed  away  since  my  foot  has 
pressed  the  soil  of  the  stranger  and  the  scenes  of 
the  Past,  now  mellowed  by  memory,  steal  over  me 
rather  with  the  pictured  beauty  of  a  vision  than  the 
sterner  force  of  reality.  The  mind,  which  naturally 
dwells  upon  the  fairest  features  of  the  varied  land- 
scape, has  excluded  from  the  retrospect  those  dark 
scenes  that  pleased  it  not,  and  blended  the  various 
pictures  of  light  in  one  harmonious  whole. 

***** 
***** 
***** 

It  has  been  said,  that  the  inclination  for  trav- 
el, long  yielded  to,  generates  a  fondness  for  the 
excitement  of  a  desultory  life,  and  tyrannizes  at 
last  over  the  mind,  with  all  the  force  of  invet- 
erate habit.  Doubtless  with  some  temperaments 
this  is  the  truth.  The  man,  who  flies  from  himself, 
and  asks  but  escape  from  reflection,  will  find  in 
the  varying  excitement  of  constant  travel,  an 
opiate,  which,  if  long  indulged  in,  becomes,  at  last, 
as  necessary  to  his  existence  as  the  very  air  he 
breathes. 


342      REFLECTIONS  ON  FOREIGN  TRAVEL. 

Upon  Other  minds,  travelling  will  leave  but  an 
indistinct  and  easily  effaceable  impress.  Those 
that  it  most  visibly  affects,  and  which,  indeed, 
often  derive  a  color  lasting  as  life  from  it,  are  the 
minds,  that,  from  a  peculiarity  of  organization,  are 
ill-fitted  to  struggle  in  the  clashing  scenes  of  the 
world,  or  to  appreciate  the  dull  realities  of  every- 
day life,  —  minds,  in  a  word,  whose  dreamy  and 
speculative  cast  inclines  them  to  the  sublime  vaga- 
ries of  the  Ideal,  and,  imbuing  their  whole  texture 
with  a  spirit  of  romance,  induces  them  to  lose  sight 
of  the  age  of  utility  and  invention,  and  seek  a 
more  exciting  aliment  in  the  history  of  the  past. 
These  remarks  apply  indeed  more  particularly  to  the 
American  traveller. 

It  has  also  been  a  question,  whether  seeing  the 
world,  as  it  is  called,  tends  to  make  a  man  happier, 
or  better  satisfied  with  his  own  condition  in  life.  I 
should  say,  No,  but  it  may  make  him  wiser ;  —  it 
does  or  should  enlarge  the  circle  of  his  mind,  and 
store  it  with  material,  useful  for  himself  and  others, 
and  this  is  the  more  essential  point.  It  does  not 
make  him  happier,  it  seems  to  me,  because  it  rudely 
casts  down  the  fair  superstructure  which  fond  illu- 
sion has  reared  upon  a  basis  of  truth.  The  travel- 
ler observes,  —  go  where  he  will,  even  in  the  smil- 
ing regions  of  perennial  summer,  where  the  cli- 
mate ever  invites,  and  honest  Nature  presents 
spontaneous  and  unasked  her  choicest  gifts,  —  that 
suffering  humanity  is  subject  to  the  same  average 
of  ill,  and  that  there  is  no  region  so  fair,  but 
misery^  disease,  and  disappointment  find  means    to 


REFLECTIONS  ON  FOREIGN  TRAVEL.  343 

inhabit  it.  Let  him  roam  over  the  garden  of  Eu- 
rope, the  Conqueror,  the  School  of  the  World, 
classic,  unfortunate  Italy.  Where  now  are  the 
marks  of  that  grandeur,  which  held  a  world  in 
its  embrace.  Look  for  it  in  yon  colossal  pile 
of  ruins.  Where  is  that  once  wide-spread  ele- 
gance and  luxury,  that  followed  in  the  trace  of 
the  sword  to  civilize  and  refine  ?  Alas,  it  dwells 
only  on  the  pages  of  her  poets  and  historians  ;  yet 
this,  degraded  and  fallen  as  it  now  is,  beyond  the 
tardy  grasp  of  redemption,  is  the  land  of  the  no- 
blest associations  of  history  and  romance ! 

Thus  much  for  the  past ;  —  now  for  a  glance  at 
the  present,  with  an  individual  reflection  upon 
ourselves.  When  we  go  abroad  for  the  first  time, 
we  generally  take  with  us  a  budget  of  darling 
prejudices,  with  which  it  is  hard  parting.  We 
(I  speak  of  the  mass  of  American  travellers)  gaze 
about  us,  on  the  foreign  slaves,  with  a  kind  of 
"  Sum  Romanus  civis "  expression.  This  feeling 
is  usually  rather  an  ephemeral  plant ;  there  is  no 
use  in  fostering  it,  when,  upon  penetrating  into 
the  heart  of  a  Continent,  we  find  the  mass  of  the 
people  scarcely  acquainted  with  our  national  exist- 
ence ;  or,  if  they  are  aware  that  there  is  such  a 
country  as  the  United  States  of  America,  usually 
unenlightened,  as  to  whether  our  color  be  white  or 
black. 

But  if  the  national  vanity  be  thus  wounded,  yet 
■worse  is  it  with  that  of  the  individual.  A  man  will 
be  fully  aware  of  his  own  insignificance  by  the  time 
he  has  completed   the  tour  of  Europe ;  and  this  is 


344      REFLECTIONS  ON  FOREIGN  TRAVEL. 

by  no  means  an  agreeable  piece  of  information  to 
most  persons.  Of  a  truth,  I  know  nothing  better 
calcuhited  to  stifle  in  the  bud  the  passion  of  vanity, 
than  a  sojourn  in  the  several  populous  cities  of 
Europe  ;  where  a  man,  unless  elevated  by  a  high- 
sounding  title,  the  wealth  of  a  millionaire,  or  the 
magic  of  genius,  positively  seems  as  nothing  in  the 
estimation  of  any  one  except  himself;  and  his  exist- 
ence appears  to  be  of  exactly  as  much  consequence 
to  the  well-being  and  continuation  of  Society,  as  a 
drop  of  water  from  the  sky  would  be  to  the  billowy 
capital  of  the  eternal  ocean. 

Besides  these  personal  dcsabusemens  so  disagree- 
able to  the  equalizing  republican,  there  are  hosts  of 
other  illusions  rudely  cast  down ;  those  with  which 
the  flowing  pen  of  History,  investing  the  sites 
of  memorable  events,  has  transmitted  to  us,  and 
deeply  engrafted  upon  the  mind,  but  which,  alas ! 
but  too  often  melt  away  before  the  touchstone  of 
actual  inspection.  And,  in  fine,  w^ere  there  no 
other  reason,  the  one  I  am  about  to  mention  would 
be  suflicient. 

In  proportion  as  we  visit  far  removed  sections  of 
the  world,  between  whose  boundaries  intervenes 
the  huge  chain  of  mountains,  or  the  tempestuous 
Ocean  rolls  his  fathomless  w^ave  ;  in  proportion,  I 
say,  as  we  look  into,  and  consider,  the  actual  con- 
dition of  the  whole  extended  family  of  man,  and 
become  familiar  by  personal  observation  with  the 
history  of  our  race  ;  —  in  proportion  as  this  dearly- 
bought  knowledge  increases,  — will  usually  decrease, 
in  a  similar  ratio,  the  presence  of  that  phantom  we 


REFLECTIONS  ON  FOREIGN  TRAVEL.  345 

call  happiness.  I  believe  a  perfect  insight  into 
those  arcana  of  nature,  now,  with  our  finite  per- 
ceptions, a  mark  alone  for  the  arrows  of  hypothesis 
and  vague  conjecture,  —  to  be  enjoyed  by  himself 
only,  —  would  make  a  man  the  most  miserable  of  his 
race.  So  is  it,  in  kind,  with  that  knowledge,  (even 
in  the  less  degree,)  which  a  comprehensive  and 
searching  mind,  aided  by  such  opportunity  as  an 
investigating  spirit  and  a  fearless  heart  will  afford,  — 
may  ever  command. 

To  see  and  deplore  those  ills  which  no  power  of 
our  own  can  alleviate ;  to  feel  bitterly  the  general 
degradation  of  the  creature  upon  whom  God  has 
set  the  seal  of  reason,  and  created  after  his  own 
image;  to  feel,  and  only  feel;  to  be,  perchance, 
scoffed  at  by  those,  who,  unable  to  understand, 
regard  your  views  as  those  of  the  visionary  enthu- 
siast, —  does  all  this  bring  no  sting  ? 

I  have  heard  mentioned,  or  read  in  books,  that 
the  American,  revisiting  his  native  shores  after  a 
long  sojourn  in  the  countries  of  the  Old  World,  re- 
turns either  a  flaming  radical  or  an  ultra  aristocrat. 
The  remark  runs  too  much  into  extremes.  I  should 
rather  say  (if  my  brief  experience  may  make  itself 
heard),  that  such  an  opportunity  for  investigation, 
if  at  all  improved,  would  incline  him  to  the  just 
and  middle  course. 

He  sees,  indeed,  the  folly  of  expecting  a  perfect 
result  from  the  Utopian  theories  of  the  great  Ideal- 
ist, which  some  have  been  visionary  enough  to 
think  might  be  practically  realized  ;  he  has  resided 
under  various  governments,  and  should  be  qualified 
44 


346      REFLECTIONS  ON  FOREIGN  TRAVEL. 

to  sum  up  the  several  advantages  incidental  to 
each,  and  to  determine  in  his  own  mind  where 
dwells  the  |2;reatest  mmount  of  good ;  and  he  gen- 
erally learns  too,  whatever  be  his  o}3inion,  to  avoid 
that  empty,  violent  declamation  (as  different  from 
tlie  cahii  language  of  conviction  as  fire  from  ice), 
which  is  generally  the  Asinine  offspring  of  Igno- 
rance, and  would  fain  hide  from  the  world  its 
pro})er  self  under  the  skin  of  the  Lion. 

But,  whether  foreign  travel  open  sources  of  hap- 
piness or  unhappiness,  it  is  certainly  productive  of 
many  and  signal  solid  advantages  to  a  reflecting 
mind.  It  acquaints  man  with  his  fellow  man  ;  it  is 
useful  alike  to  thefeiv  who  are  set  apart  to  govern, 
and  to  the  many  whose  duty  it  is  to  obey  ;  it  en- 
larges and  liberalizes  the  mind,  by  weeding  from 
it  those  unfounded  and  dangerous  prejudices,  which 
vanish  before  the  rays  of  information,  as  do  the 
mists  of  the  morninii  before  the  material  sun. 

The  Old  World  is  the  world  of  associations  and 
of  history.  Upon  its  wide  theatre  have  been 
enacted  the  great  dramas,  that  have  made  man  what 
he  is  ;  it  has  been  the  scene  of  every  stupendous 
invention  or  startling  discovery,  that  has  modified 
the  condition  of  the  human  race,  save  that  alone 
which  has  given  us  a  country.  It  is  the  world,  in 
fine,  to  which  we  look  for  useful  precedents  and 
that  instruction,  which  the  experience  of  the  past 
alone  can  give. 

When  Time  shall  have  marched  onward,  until  he 
reach  a  point  in  the  vast  circle  of  years  where 
his    ample    scroll   shall    display   an   age  as  far  re- 


REFLECTIONS  ON  FOREIGN  TRAVEL.  347 

moved  from  ours  as  that  is  from  the  Augustan 
era  of  Rome,  perchance,  may  this  hijid  be  the  only 
one  worth  the  visiting.  European  power,  with 
those  vast  landmarks,  which  show  the  progress  of 
centuries,  may  be  swept  away  by  the  universal 
destroyer,  and  the  now  growing  giant  of  the  West- 
ern World  may  have  encircled  the  wide  Universe  in 
his  huge  embrace,  and  the  lesson  it  were  useful  for 
us  to  learn,  might  be  thrown  away  upon  the  su- 
perior wisdom  of  a  distant  posterity. 

Whether  as  a  nation  our  example  shall  shine 
gloriously  upon  the  page  of  history,  or  whether 
our  Experiment  shall  be  recorded  but  as  a  beacon- 
light  to  warn  the  world,  the  dim  ages  of  futurity 
will  display.  We  will  not  anticipate  ;  our  business 
is  with  the  present.  If  we  shine,  it  must  be  by 
pursuing  those  Arts  and  Sciences  (cradled  in  the 
lap  of  Old  Europe,  and  fostered  upon  her  maternal 
bosom),  which,  by  elevating  the  moral  tone  and 
condition  of  man,  are  alone  worthy  of  his  intellec- 
tual endowments. 

But  it  were  needless  to  descant  at  length  upon 
the  advantages  of  travel.  Ask  the  enthusiastic  pil- 
grim, who  has  returned  from  his  wanderings  over 
the  fields  of  Italy  and  Greece,  and  that  other  land, 
that  was  the  school  of  both  ; —  who  has  dwelt  upon 
the  brightness  of  those  godlike  forms,  that  live  in 
marble,  or  breathe  on  the  canvass,  to  show  what 
man  might  i)e  ;  —  who  has  mused  over  that  Mon- 
umental Ruin,  fit  emblem  of  a  nation's  power  ; — 
who  has  paced  the  aisles  of  that  Colossal  Temple, 
Titanic  offspring  of  Centuries,  and  gazed  upon  its 


348      REFLECTIONS  ON  FOREIGN  TRAVEL. 

air-hung  Dome ;  —  ask  such  an  one,  if  a  change  be 
not  "  come  o'er  the  spirit  of  his  dream  "  ?  What  is 
the  life  of  man  7  It  is  a  vision,  and  a  fleeting  one  ; 
it  passeth  away,  —  and  vre  are  not ;  but  the  good 
men  do,  it  hath  been  said,  shall  live  after  them, 
and  knowledge,  a  knowledge  of  mankind,  —  an 
acquaintance  with  their  various  wants,  conditions, 
and  societies,  (when  rightly  directed,)  is  the  rocky 
basis  upon  which  stands,  most  firmly,  the  fair  struc- 
ture of  GOOD. 

I  have  done  ;  and,  if  what  I  have  writ  shall 
serve  a  purpose  more  lasting  or  useful  than  the 
mere  amusement  for  a  passing  hour,  my  end  will 
be  answered,  and  the  task  I  have  attempted  not 
undertaken  in  vain. 


GENERAL    INDEX. 


AcADEMiE  RoYALE  DE  MusiquE  in  Par- 
is, 5.  Opera  at  the,  5.  The  Ballet 
there,  7.  Names  of  artistes  attached 
to  the,  238.  Its  construction  and  nu- 
merous compartments,  239.  Prices  of 
admission  to  the,  239.  Royal  Box  in 
the,  240.  Seldom  attended  by  the 
Royal  Family,  240.  Internal  deco- 
rations of  the,  240.  Its  saloon,  240. 
Its  external  appearance,  241.  Operas 
represented  there,  241.  Remarks  on 
the  opera  performers  there,  248.  The 
danse  at,  251.  Ballets  performed  at, 
251.  Remarks  on  the  ballet  performers, 
251 ;  on  the  male  artistes  in  the  danse 
there,  256.  Masked  balls  at  the,  310. 
Ambigu  Comique,  theatre  of,  in  Paris, 

277. 
America,  reflections  on  Protestant,  324. 

Respect  for,  in  England,  330. 
American  travellers    in  Europe,  sensa- 
tions of,  21.     Unsatisfactory  accounts 
given  of  England  by,  336.    Prejudices 
of,  343. 
Amphitheatre,  the  ancient,  at  Nismes, 

182  ;  at  Toulouse,  210. 
Amsterdam,  ride  to,  from  Rotterdam,  22. 
House  occupied  by  Peter  the   Great 
near,  23,  27.    Described  and  compar- 
ed with  other  cities,  24.    The  Stadt 
Haus  there,  24.      Dearth  of  amuse- 
ments in,  24.      The  Picture  Gallery 
there,  25.    Scenery  in  the  vicinity  of, 
27. 
Amusements,  the  German,  62.     Cheap- 
ness of,  at  Vienna,  84.    Remarks  on 
French,  308. 
Anglais,  the  Cafe,  at  Paris,  excellence 
of  the,  285.     The  Count  there,  266. 
.  Angleterre,  Hotel  d',  at  Rouen,  2. 


Antiquity,  monuments  of,  in  Paris,  9. 
General  appearance  of,  at  Brunswick, 
31.  Monuments  of,  at  Nismes,  182; 
at  Toulouse,  210. 
Aqueduct  of  the  Pont  du  Gard,  near 
Nismes,  184,  The  colossal,  at  Caserta, 
184.  The  supposed  Roman,  at  Mont- 
pellier,  205  ;  at  Toulouse,  210. 
Archduke  Charles,  his  maison  de  cam- 

pag'iie  at  Baden,  75. 
Archduke  Charles  Hotel,  at  Vienna, 67. 
Arsenal,  at  Berlin,  35.     At  Vienna,  72. 

At  Toulon  and  elsewhere,  199. 
Artois,  Maid  of,  an  opera,  composed  for 

IMadame  Malibran,  by  Balfe,  332. 
Ascot  Races,  the  scene  of  the,  noticed, 

330. 
Austria,  its  army ,  65.     Hearts  of  the  im- 
perial family  of,  70.     Identification  of, 
with  Vienna,  83. 
Austria  Proper,  the  territory  of,  65.    Its 

army,  65. 
Austrians,  regard  of,  for  the  memory  of 

Maria  Theresa,  71. 
Autographs,  in  the  Biblioth^que  Royale, 
at  Paris,  299.    Reflections  suggested 
by,  299. 
Aveugles,  Cafe  des,  in  the  Palais  Royal 
at  Paris,  described,  230.   Its  orchestra, 
236. 
Avignon,  situation   and   population  of, 
177.     Cathedral  at,  177.     Ecclesiasti- 
cal events  connected  with,  177. 


B. 


Baden,  a  watering-place  near  Vienna,  74. 
The  Archduke  Charles's  country  seat 
at,'  75. 

Baden-Baden,  the  fashionable  watering- 
place,  manner  of  life  and  objects  of  in- 
terest at,  122.    Large  edifice  at,  122. 


S50 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


Its  locality,  123.  Ruins  of  the  castle 
near,  123.  View  of,  from  the  castle, 
123.  English  lady  at,  124. 
Bals  masque's,  where  given,  310.  Prices 
for  admission  to  the,  310.  Character 
of  the,  at  the  Academic  Royale,  310  ; 
dresses  of  the  ladies,  310  ;  of  the  cav- 
aliers, 311.  Character  of  the,  at  the 
opera,  311  ;  at  other  theatres,  and  the 
costumes,  312.  The  appearance  as 
viewed  from  the  deuxitmesloges,  312. 
Hour  of  the  dispersion,  312. 
Balfe,  author  of  the  Maid  of  Artois,  332. 
Ballet,  at  the  Academic  Royale,  in  Paris, 
unrivalled  excellence  of  the,  7,  238, 
251.  Prominent  danseuses  in  the,  238. 
Remarks  on  Mademoiselle  Taglioni's 
performances  in  the,  254 ;  on  Made- 
moiselle Duvernay's,  254  ;  on  Made- 
moiselle Fanny  Essler's,255  ;  on  Mad- 
ame Augusta's  dibut  in  the,2.5G.  Male 
artistes  in  the,  256 ;  Mazillier,  256 ; 
Montjoie,  2.57  ;  Parrot,  2.57. 
Ballets,  performed  at  the  Academic  Roy- 
ale de  Musique  in  Paris,  251  ;  La  Re- 
volte  au  Serail,  251. 
Balzac,  author  of  Le  Pere  Goriot,  302. 

Personal  appearance  of,  302. 
Basle,  journey  to,  129.     Arrival  at,  131. 
Drei  Konige  von  Coin  hotel  at,  and 
the  company,  132.   Disappointed  trav- 
ellers at  132.     The  Cathedral  in,  134. 
Remarks  on,  134,     The   burial-place 
of  Erasmus,  134. 
Beauharnais,    Prince    Eugene,    collec- 
tion of  statuary  and  paintings  by,  at 
Munich,  94. 
Beauty,  remarks  on  the  mysterious  nature 
of,  125.  American  and  European  com- 
pared, 318.     American  in  Paris,  319. 
Bellini,  Vincentio,  the  success  of  his  La 
Norma  264,  265  ;  of  his  La  Somnam- 
bula,  258,264,  234  ;  of  his  I  Puritani, 
262.     Honored,  263.     Death  of,  263. 
Bergs,  Hotel  des,  in  Geneva,  situation  of, 

149.     American  guests  at,  149. 
Berlin,  ride  to,  from  Hanover,  35.  Beau- 
ty of,  35.  The  royal  palace  at,  35.  Tlie 
royal    museum   and  the  arsenal,    36. 


Linden  Street,  36.  Public  amusements 
in,  37.     Theatres,  37.     The  royal  fam- 
ily, 38.     The   immediate  environs  of, 
38.     Charlottenburg,    near,   38.     Re- 
flections on  leaving,  45. 
Berne,  fellow  travellers  and   events  on 
the  way   to,  134.     Scenery  in  the  vi- 
cinity of,  137, 139.     Situation  and  ap- 
pearance of,  137.    Gothic  Cathedral  at, 
138.     Promenade  there,  138. 
Berri,  Madame  la  Duchesse  de,  her  place 
of  residence,  93.   Compared  with  Ma- 
ria Louisa,  93. 
Berri,  Due  de,  assassinated  at  the  Opera 

House  in  the  Rue  Richelieu,  241. 
Bezicres,  tunnel  through  a  mountain  at, 

209. 
Bibliotheque  Royale,  at  Paris,  68.     Its 
endowments  and  situation,  298.     Fa- 
cility  of  access  to   the,  298.     Auto- 
graphs in  the,  299. 
Billiards,  fondness  of  the  Parisians  for, 
290.  The  expense  of  playing,  in  Paris, 
290.     Mode  of  playing,  290.     Scien- 
tific nature  of  the  game,  290. 
Bingen,  views  in  the    vicinity  of,  103. 

Vines  cultivated  there,  104. 
Black  Forest,  view  of,  from  the  castle 

near  Baden,  123. 
Blois,  the  city  of,  218. 
Boatman  on  the  Rhine,  account  of  the, 

108,  112. 
Boats  at    Marseilles,  management  and 

construction  of  the,  187. 
Boieldieu,  the  composer,  anecdote  con- 
nected  with  the  funeral  obsequies  of, 
8. 
Bonaparte.     See  Napoleon. 
Bonaparte,  Jerome,  personal  appearance 

and  dress  of,  148. 
Bonn,  visit  to,  112.  University  and  cabi- 
net of  natural  curiosities  at,  112. 
Boppart,  notice  of,  116. 
Bordeaux,  journey  from  Toulouse  to,  211. 
Described,  212.     The  theatre  in,  de- 
scribed, 212.     Cornmill  at,  214.    Mon- 
taigne's burial-place,  214.     The  aris- 
tocracy  of,  214.     The   source  of   its 
wealth,    214.      Comparison  of,    with 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


351 


Marseilles,  215.  Once  a  court  resi- 
dence, 215.  Best  mode  of  travelling 
from,  to  Paris,  215. 

Boulevards,  the  crowds  on  the,  during 
the  last  days  of  the  carnival,  312. 

Bourbon,  Palais  de,  226. 

Bourgeois,  of  Paris,  their  figure  and 
strength,  315.  The  Garde  Nationale, 
mostly  composed  of,  315. 

Breakfasting  houses,  in  Paris,  282.  The 
Cafe  Veron,  2.^3.  The  Cafe  d'Orleans, 
283.  Time  for  taking  the  dijeiiner  a 
la  fourchctte  268. 

Bremen,  sojourn  at,  30.  Wine  cellar  at, 
30.     Notice  of,  31. 

Bridge  across  the  Moldau,  at  Prague, 
GO.    At  St.  Esprit,  17G.  At  Tours,  217. 

Brocck,  neatness  of  the  village  of,  27. 

Brunswick,  airival  at,  31.  Its  architec- 
ture and  antiquity,  31.  Beautiful  walks 
in  the  environs  of,  32.  The  vault  of 
the  Brunswick  family  at,  32.  The  Du- 
cal Palace  at,  32. 

Bulwer,  Henry,  cited  respecting  French 
morals,  320. 

Byron,  Lord,  remark  of,  48.  His  char- 
acter of  Gibbon,  143  ;  of  Voltaire,  162. 


Cafes,  at  Marseilles,  described,  191.  Ped- 
leresses  in,  192.  At  Paris,  230,  281 ; 
des  Aveugles,  and  its  orchestra,  23G; 
Veron,  282.  Further  remarks  on  Paris- 
ian, 263.  Tortoni's,  284.  Anglais,  285. 
Estaminet,  289.     Music  in  the,  291. 

Calais,  arrival  at,  from  Paris,  17. 

Canada,  prevalence  of  French  character 
in,  128. 

Canal  du  Midi.     See  Languedoc  Canal. 

Canova,  Antonio,  his  Group  of  the  Gra- 
ces, at  Munich,  94.  Compared  with 
Rubens  and  Raffaelle,  94. 

Carlsruhe,  plan  and  construction  of, 
121.  Signification  and  origin  of  the 
name,  121. 

Carnival,  in  Paris,  the  gayety  and  amuse- 
ments of  the,  310, 312 ;  the  bal  masqui, 


310.  Crowds  and  excitement  on  the 
Boulevards  during  the  last  three  days 
of  the,  312. 

Caroline,  consort  of  George  the  Fourth, 
her  burial-])]ace,  32. 

Cane  du  restaurant,  at  Very's,  294. 

Castle  near  Coblentz  described,  105. 
Legend  of  the,  near  Nonnenworth, 
109.  Built  by  Charlemagne  at  Hei- 
delberg, 118.     Near  Baden,  123. 

Catholic  countries,  poverty  of  the  people 
and  splendor  of  the  churches  in,  114. 

Catholic  religion,  tendency  of  the,  324. 

Cette,  importance  and  situation  of  the 
port  of,  207. 

Chain  for  obstructing  the  navigation  of 
the  Danube,  72. 

Chamouni,  excursion  to  the  Valley  of, 
150.  Ascent  to,  152.  View  from,  152. 
Reflections  respecting,  152.  Visiters 
at,  153.     Scenery  and  climate  of,  15G. 

Champs  Elysees,  the  pleasure-grounds 
of  Paris,  30G.  Instrumental  concerts 
in  the,  308. 

Cluirlatanerie  practised  at  Marseilles,  194. 

Charlemagne,  ruins  of  the  castle  built 
by,  at  Heidelberg,  118. 

Charlottenburg,   once    the   residence   of 
the  King  of  Prussia,  38.     The  statue 
of  Louisa,  the  late  Queen  of  Prussia 
at,  39. 

Chateau  of  Sans  Souci,  at  Potsdam,  41 
Of  Prince  Melternich,  at  Johannisberg 
102.     Of  the  Tuileries,  described,  22G. 

Christianity,  skepticism  in  relation  to, 
144. 

Church,  the  oldest  in  Germany,  30. 

Cigar-smoking,  arrest  for,  at  Osnabruck, 
29. 

Civilization,  more  conducive  to  morality 
than  simplicity  of  manners,  77. 

Coblentz,  journey  to,  from  Bingen,  105. 
Castle  near,  described,  105.  Evening 
stroll  at,  lOG.  Annoyance  at,  by  the 
Prussian  police,  107. 

Colmar  visited,  129. 

Cologne,  notice  of,  113.  The  Cathedral 
at,  113.  Tomb  of  the  Three  Kings  of, 
113.  View  of,  from  the  Cathedral,  114. 


352 


GENERAL  INDEX, 


Rubens's  painting  of  the  crucifixion  of 
St.  Peter  at,  115. 

Colors,  permanency  of,  in  paintings,  51. 

Comedie  Fran^aise,  remarks  on  tlie  pres- 
ent state  of  the,  2G8. 

Compagnon  de  voyage,  at  Heidelberg, 
120. 

Concert,  for  Madame  Malibran's  hus- 
band, in  London,  333.  Talent  enlist- 
ed upon  the  occasion,  333.  Prices  of 
'  the  tickets  for  the,  333.  Thronged, 
333.  Madame  Malibran's  success  on 
the  occasion,  334.  Incident  connected 
with  the,  335.  See  Instrumental  Con- 
certs^ and  Vocal  Concerts. 

Coppet,  the  abode  of  Necker  and  Mad- 
ame de  Stael,  visited,  165. 

Cornmill,  at  Bordeaux,  214. 

Correggio,  his  Notte  and  his  Magdalen, 
51.  Remarks  on  the  colors  of  his 
paintings,  51.  Pecuniary  value  of  his 
paintings,  51. 

Count,  notice  of  the,  at  the  Cafe  An- 
glais, 286. 

Co  vent  Garden  Theatre,  in  London,  vis- 
ited, 18.  Macready's  performances  at 
the,  332. 

Cretins,  described,  90. 


D. 


D'Alembert,  autograph  of,  in  the  Bibli- 
otheque  Royale,  at  Paris,  299. 

Damoreau,  Cinti,  Madame,  attached  to 
the  Academic  Royale  de  Musique,  at 
Paris,  238.  The  ■prima  donna  at  the 
French  Opera,  249. 

Danse,251.  Remarks  on  the,  256.  See 
Ballet. 

Danube,  chain  for  obstructing  the  navi- 
gation of  the,  72.  Appearance  of  the, 
on  the  road  from  Vienna  to  Presburg, 
76.  Appearance  of  the,  by  moonlight, 
81. 

De  Beriot,  Carl,  the  celebrated  violinist, 
concert  for  his  benefit,  in  London,  333. 
Anecdote  of,  in  relation  to  his  wiic, 
335. 


De  Saussure.    See  Saussure. 

Dejeuner  a  la  fourchette,  its  distinctive 
character,  180.  At  the  Cafe  Anglais, 
286.     The  hour  of  taking  the ,  288. 

De  la  Vigne,  Casimir,  popularity  of  his 
dramas  at  the  Theatre  Fran^aise,  271. 
Popularity  of  his  Don  Juan  d'Au- 
triche,  271 ;  analysis  of  it,  272.  Emi- 
nence of,  as  a  dramatist,  304. 

Derivis,  attached  to  the  French  Opera 
House,  at  Paris,  238.  Remarks  on  his 
performances,  249. 

Diamonds  in  the  Treasury  at  Dresden, 

52.  At  Vienna,  68. 

Diderot,  remark  by,  136.  Autograph  of, 
at  the  Pioyal  Library  in  Paris,  299. 

Diligence,  stop  of  the,  at  midnight,  135. 

Dinner,  details  of  a  Parisian,  at  a  res- 
tavrant,  293. 

Divorces,  difficulty  of  obtaining,  in 
France,  323. 

Dorval,  Madame,  remarks  on  her  acting 
in  company  with  Ligier,  269. 

Don  Juan  d'Autriche,  a  play,  by  Casi- 
mir de  la  Vigne,  its  popularity,  271. 
Outline  of  it,  272. 

Drachenfels,  the  mountain  of,  ascended, 
111. 

Drei  Konige  von  Coin,  114.  Hotel, 
called,  131. 

Dresden,  48.  Gallery  of  paintings  in, 
49.  Jewel  office  or  treasury  at,  52. 
Porcelain,  53.  The  head-quarters  of 
Napoleon,  during  the  Saxon  campaign, 

53.  Environs  of,  54.  View  from  a 
fortress  near,  54.  Scenery  about,  55. 
Architecture  of,  55.  The  principal 
church  in,  and  its  music,  55.  The 
Elbe  at,  and  its  banks,  56.  Amuse- 
ments in,  56.  Character  of  the  people 
of,  57. 

Dress,  ideas  of  the  French  as  to,  314. 
Character  of,  in  Paris,  314. 

Dresses  at  the  masked  balls  at  the  Acad- 
emic Royale,  310 ;  at  the  other  thea- 
tres, 312. 

Drury  Lane  Theatre,  in  London,  visited, 
18.     Madame  Malibran  at  the,  332. 

Ducal  Palace  at  Brunswick,  32. 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


353 


Dutch,  cleanliness  of  the,  24.  Their 
amusements,  25.  Their  appearance,  2.'). 

Dutch  Painters,  25.  Remarks  on  their 
subjects,  2G.  Compared  witli  Italian, 
26. 

Duvernay,  Mademoiselle,  attached  to  the 
Academic  Royale  de  Musique,  at 
Paris,  238.  Remarks  on  her  personal 
appearance  and  performances,  254. 

E. 

Education,  of  a  French  demoiselle  of 
good  family  particularized,  320.  Neg- 
lect of,  in  Europe,  323.  See  Ignorance. 

Ehrenbreitstein,  notice  of  a  visit  to  the 
fortress  of,  lOG.  Jealousy  of  the  Prus- 
sian government  at,  lOG. 

Elbe,  the  river,  and  its  banks,  at  Dres- 
den, 50. 

Elegant,  notice  of  the  Parisian,  314. 

Elster  River  and  its  vicinity,  47. 

Enfer,  L',  a  scene  in  La  Tentation,  de- 
scribed, 244. 

English  garden,  near  Munich,  90. 

English  singers,  contrasted  with  the 
Italian,  G. 

English  travellers,  remarks  on,  339. 

Englishman,  the  Parisian  compared  with 
the,  11.  His  hospitality,  330.  His 
respect  for  America,  337.  The  well- 
bred,  described,  337.  His  fierti,  337. 
Remarks  on  his  reserve,  337. 

Erastnus,  the  burial-place  of,  134. 

Essler,  Fanny,  7, 238;  exceeds  Mademoi- 
selle Tuglioni  in  brilliancy  of  execu- 
tion, 254.  Remarks  on  her  personal 
appearance  and  peculiar  style,  255. 

Estaminet,  the  Cafe,  its  characteristics, 
289.  Billiard  playing  at,  290.  Ecarti 
at,  291.  The  domino  at,  291.  Music 
there,  291. 

Eugine,  a  skilful  billiard  player,  in  Par- 
is, 290. 


Falcon,   Mademoiselle,  attached  to  the 
Academic  Royale,  at  Paris,  238.    Sue- 

45 


cessful  in  Halevy's  La  Juive,  240. 
Remarks  respecting,  250. 

Fay,  Leontine.     See  Volnys. 

Ferney,  visit  to  Voltaire's  residence  at, 
101.  The  old  gardener  at,  1G2.  Ob- 
jects of  interest  there,  1G3. 

Fourchette.     See  Dijeuner  a  la, 

Fran^ais,  Theatre,  in  Paris,  remarks  on 
the,  and  on  the  actors,  208.  Plays 
now  popular  there,  271. 

France,  exile  of  the  Bonapartes  from, 
149.  The  happy  South  of,  177.  Igno- 
rance in  the  South  of,  185,  194. 

Frankfort,  journey  to,  from  Munich,  97. 
Reflections  upon  arriving  at,  98.  His- 
torical associations  with,  98.  Remarks 
on  the  city  and  its  inhabitants, 99.  Visit 
to  the  opera  at,  99.  The  bridge  at, 
100.  Without  liberty,  100.  Gardens 
there,  101. 

Frederic  the  Great,  King  of  Prussia,  the 
private  room  of,  at  Potsdam,  as  left  by 
him,  40.  Intimacy  of,  with  Voltaire, 
40,  104.  Death  of,  at  Sans  Souci,  41. 
Interest  of  the  Prussians  in,  43.  Visit 
to  the  church  where  his  ashes  rest,  43. 
Remarks  on,  1G4. 

French,  avarice  not  a  national  vice  of 
the,  10.  Fortunes  of  the,  small,  10. 
Fondness  of,  for  theatrical  exhibitions, 
279.  Character  of  their  pleasures, 
308.  The  charge  of  their  being  a  na- 
tion of  dancers  and  music-masters  con- 
sidered, 313.  Their  personal  appear- 
ance and  dress,  314.     See  Parisians. 

French  drama,  De  la  Vigne  and  Scribe 
the  most  celebrated  writers  of,  304. 

French  government,  open  and  enlight- 
ened policy  of  the,  in  regard  to  letters, 
298,  300. 

French  ladies,  elevation  of  the,  in  soci- 
ety, 317.  Their  personal  appearance, 
317.  Beauty  of  the,  compared  with 
American,  318.  Their  moral  charac- 
ter considered,  320.  Henry  Bulvver 
cited,  as  to  the,  320.  Sketch  of, the 
early  education  of,  320.  Marriages  of 
the,  321.     Married  life  among,  321. 

French  language,  plays  performed  in  the, 


354 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


at  Berlin,  37.  Necessity  of  an  ac- 
quaintance with,  tliere,  37.  Faint  re- 
semblance to  the,  in  the  language 
spoken  at  Marseilles,  200.  Purity  of  the 
at  Blois  and  Tours,  218.  Its  richness 
in  the  phraseology  of  love,  323.  Its 
barrenness  as  to  dotnestic  life,  324. 

French  libraries,  10,  G8.  TheBibliotheque 
Royale,  298.  Easy  access  to,  2i)rf,  300. 
Contents  of  the  circulating,  301 ;  the 
mimoires  in  them,  301. 

French  Opera  House,  operas  there  repre- 
sented, 241.  Robert  le  Diable,  by 
Mayerbeer,  241,  242;  its  popularity, 
and  Nourrit's  success  in  the  rdLe  of  the 
Devil  Prince  in  it,  242.  La  Tentation, 
a  ballet-opera,  represented  there,  244 ; 
the  L'Enfer  in  it,  244.  Halevy's  La 
Juive  represented  there,  246 ;  remarks 
on  it,  246.  Les  Huguenots,  by  May- 
erbeer, represented  at,  248.  Remarks 
on  the  artistes,  248.  Masked  balls  at 
the,  311,  312.  See  Academie  Royale 
de  Musique. 


G. 


Gaiete,  Thedtre  de,   Scribe's  pieces  re 

presented  at  the,  304. 
Galignani,  Messieurs,  the  library  of  the, 

300.     Their   Messenger,    300.     Their 

reading-room,  301. 
Gallery  of  paintings  at  Amsterdam,  25. 

At  Dresden,  49.     In  the  Louvre,  at 

Paris,  229.     See  Paintings. 
Gambling,  the  passion  for,  in  Paris,  14  ; 

at  Wiesbaden,  101;  at  Baden-Baden, 

122. 
Garcia,  Signorina.     See  Malibran. 
Gar(;on,   la  vie  en,  in    Paris,  described, 

282.     The  neatness  and  service  of  the, 

in  the  cafes,  283,  285. 
Garde,   Nationale,   at    Paris,   composed 

mostly  of  the  French  bourgeoisie,  315. 

Contrasted  with  the  troops  of  the  line, 

315.     Their  average  height,  315. 
Garden  of  the  Tuileries.    See  Tuilerics. 


Garonne,  bridge  across  the,  at  Toulouse, 
210.     Tower  for  the  distribution  of  its 
waters  through  Toulouse,  210. 
Gastronomy,  esteem  for  professors  of,  in 
Paris,  13. 

Geisenheim,  views  in  the  vicinity  of, 
103.     Its  situation,  103. 

Geneva,  Rousseau  cited  respecting  the 
Lake  of,  and  its  environs,  142.  Pas- 
sage on  the  Lake,  147.  American 
guests  at  the  Hotel  des  Bergs  in,  149. 
Excursion  from,  to  the  valley  of  Cha- 
mouni,  150.  Commercial  character 
and  picturesqueness  of,  167.  The  in- 
habitants of,  168. 

Genius,  reflections  on,  139. 

Georges,  Mademoiselle,  success  of,  in 
tragedy,  274.  Her  personal  appear- 
ance and  style  of  acting,  275. 

Germans,  character  of  the  amusements 
of,  62.  Their  promenades  and  gardens, 
62.  Their  orchestral  music,  63.  Seri- 
ous and  sentimental,  74.  Fondness  of, 
for  music,  74.  Phlegmatic,  100.  Con- 
trasted with  Frenchmen,  100. 

Gibbon,  Edward,  abode  of,  at  Lausanne, 
143.  Character  of,  sketched  by  a  poet, 
143.     Contrasted  with  Rousseau,  144. 

Girlhood,  in  the  higher  classes  of  society 
in  Paris,  320. 

Gold,  enlightening  effects  of,  on  politi- 
cians, 173. 

Golden  Fleece,  the  insignia  of  the  order 
of,  at  Vienna,  68. 

Golden  Stag  House,  at  Munich,  92. 

Grapes,  cultivation  of,  at  Johannisberg, 
102;  in  the  vicinity  of  Geisenheim, 
104;  of  Bordeaux,  214. 

Gras,  Dorus,  Madame,  attached  to  the 
French  Opera  House  at  Paris,  238. 
Remarks  respecting  her  singing  and 
her  personal  appearance,  250. 

Gretry,  the  heart  of,  328. 

Grignon's  Restaurant  at  Paris,  293. 

Grisi,  Giulia,  Mademoiselle,  her  person- 
al advantages  and  physical  power,  5. 
Her  performance  of  Anna  Bolena,  6. 
Her  personification  of  La  Norma,  6, 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


355 


265.  Beauty  of,  264.  An  exquisite 
singer,  265.  Remarks  on  her  acting, 
265.  Second  only  to  Madame  Mali- 
bran,  3.33.  At  a  concert  for  De  Beriot, 
333.  Her  duett  with  Madame  Mah- 
bran,  .334. 

Gros,  Baron,  his  painting  of  the  dome  of 
the  Pantheon  at  Paris,  225. 

Grotto,  discovered  by  De  Saussure  in 
Savoy,  157. 

Gymnase,  remarks  on  the,  275.  The 
home  of  the  comedy  in  Paris,  276. 
Scribe's  pieces  represented  there,  304. 


H. 


Halevy,  his  La  Juive  performed  at 
tlie  Academic  Royale,  242.  Gorgeous- 
ness  of  its  scenery,  246.  Time  re- 
ferred to,  in  the  plot,  246.  Remarks 
respecting  it,  247. 

Hallein,  salt  works  of,  visited  and  de- 
scribed, 88. 

Hanover,  visited,  33.  Objects  of  interest 
at,  33.  The  theatre,  33.  Government 
of,  34. 

Havre  de  Grace,  notice  of,  2.  Return 
to,  from  Paris,  328. 

Hearts  of  the  imperial  family  of  Austria, 
70.     Of  Gretry,  328. 

Heidelberg,  romantic  situation  of,  118. 
Charlemagne's  castle  at,  118.  View 
of,  from  a  terrace,  120. 

Heloise,  La  Nouvelle,  a  romance,  by 
Rousseau,  140. 

Herold,  popularity  of  his  Pre  aux  Clercs, 
278. 

Herz,  Henri,  an  eminent  pianist,  present 
at  De  Beriot's  concert,  333. 

Hugo,  Victor,  tragedy  by,  274.  The 
popularity  of  Notre  Dame  de  Paris 
by,  302. 

Huguenots,  Les,  by  Mayerbeer,  repre- 
sented at  the  Academic  Royale,  242, 
248. 

Hungarians,  notice  of  the,  77.  Present 
character  of  the,  79. 

Hyde  Park,  in  London,  visited,  331. 


Ices,  the  sale  of,  at  the  cafes  in  Paris, 
284.     Tortoni's,  284. 

Ignorance  among  the  inhabitants  of 
Southern  France,  185.  Among  the 
lower  classes  in  European  cities, 
323. 

Imperial  Library,  at  Vienna,  C7. 

Instrumental  Concerts,  popularity  of,  in 
Paris,  305.  Given  in  the  open  air, 
305.  Prices  for  admission  to,  300.  At- 
tendance on,  at  evenmg,  306.  Given 
in  the  Champs  Elysees  d'Hiver,  308. 
Musard's,  308. 

Intemperance,  infrequency  of,  in  France, 
181,322. 

Italian  Opera,  superiority  of  the,  in  Paris, 
5,  257.  Not  opened  on  the  same  night 
with  the  French,  241.  Remarks  on 
the  artistes,  258.  Excellence  of  the 
orchestra,  259. 

Italian  Painters,  Dutch  compared  with, 
26.     Remarks  on  the,  231. 

Italian  Singers,  at  the  Opera,  in  Paris,  5. 
Their  different  successes  at  Paris  and 
London,  6.  Contrasted  with  English 
and  other  European  singers,  6.  See 
Italian  Opera. 

Ivanhoff,  a  Russian,  connected  with  the 
Italian  Opera  in  Paris,  260.  Remarks 
on,  264.    At  a  concert  in  London,  333. 


Jamieson,  Mrs.,  remark  of,  respecting 
Paris,  14. 

Johannisberg,  beauty  of,  102.  The  Cha- 
teau of  Prince  Metternich  at,  102.  Its 
grapes  and  wines,  102. 

Juif,  Errant,  at  the  Ambigu  Comique, 
in  Paris,  277.  Success  and  notice  of 
the  play,  277. 

Juive,  La,  an  opera  by  Halevy,  242. 
Gorgeous  scenic  display  of,  246.  Pe- 
riod referred  to  in  the  plot,  246.  Re- 
marks respecting  it,  247. 

Julie,  character  of,  by  Rousseau,  140. 


356 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


K. 


King's  Box,  in  the  theatre  at  Berlin,  38. 

At  the  Academie  Royale,  240. 
King's  Tiieatre,  in  London,  remarks  on 

the  assemblage  at,  18.     Its  aristocratic 

character,  19. 
Keck,  Paul  de,   13.     His  novels,  303; 

difficulty    of  successfully   translating 

them,  303. 
Kursaal,  a  building  at  Wiesbaden,  101. 


L. 


Lablache,  Signor,  of  the  Italian  Opera 
at  Paris,  5.     His  personal  appearance, 

259.  Characteristics  of  his  perform- 
ances, 250.  His  comic  verve,  as  dis- 
played in  La  Prova  d'un  Opera  Seria, 

260.  His  success  in  I  Puritani,  2G2. 
At  a  concert  in  London,  333. 

Ladies,  French  and  American,  318. 
Lafont,  attached  to  the  Academie  Royale 
de   Musique,    238.     Remarks  on   his 
performances,  249. 
Land,  sensations  upon  beholding,  at  the 

termination  of  a  voyage,  1,340. 
Languedoc  Canal,  described,  208.     The 
route  along  the,  209.     Passes  through 
a  tunnelled  mountain,  209.     Mode  of 
travelling  and  sleeping  on  the,  209. 
Lannes,  burial-place  of,  223. 
Laura,   immortalized  by  Petrarch,  180. 

Column  to  the  memory  of,  180. 
Lausanne,  approach  to,  139.     The  abode 
of   Rousseau,   139  ;  of  Gibbon,   143. 
Confused  and  irregular  appearance  of, 
145.     Prospect  from,  145. 
Leipsic,  promenades  in,  46.     Site  of  the 

battle  of,  46.     Attractions  of,  48. 
Leman,  Lake,  167. 

Levasseur,  primo  basso  to  the  Academie 
Royale  de  Musique  at  Paris,  238.  Re- 
marks on  his  style  of  singing,  249. 
Libraries,  the  Imperial,  at  Vienna,  67. 
The  Vatican,  68.  The  Royal, at  Paris, 
68,  298,  300.  Easy  of  access  to  stran- 
gers, 298,  300.  Circulating,  at  Paris, 
301. 


Ligier,   the   first  of  French   tragedians, 
observations  on  his  acting,  268.     Re 
mark  applied  to,  269.     Success  of,  in 
a  play  with  Madame  Dorval,  269  ;  in 
Don  Juan  d'Autriche,  274. 
Linden  Street,  at  Berlin,  beauty  of,  36. 
Line,  French  troops  of  the,  at  Paris,  315. 
Lintz,  notice  of,  86.     Its   fortifications, 

86. 
Literary  facilities  for  strangers  in  Paris, 

10,298,300. 
Loire,  quay  on  the,  from  Argennes  to 
Tours,  217.    Described,  218.     Route 
along  the,  218. 
London,  arrival  at,  17.     Places  in,  vis- 
ited, J  7,  330.     St.  Paul's  Church,  18. 
Theatres  in,  18,    332.      The   King's 
Theatre,    18.      Departure    from,    19. 
Drive  from  Portsmouth  to,  330.     Per- 
formers in  the  theatres  at,  332.     Con- 
cert there  for  De  Beriot,  333.    Life  in, 
336.     Respect  for  America  there,  337. 
Louis  the  Fourteenth,  his  visits  to  the 
Swiss  cottages  in  the  gardens  of  the 
Lesser  Trianon,  327,  note. 
Louis,  King  of  Bavaria,  exertions  of,  to 

beautify  and  improve  Munich,  96. 
Louisa,  the  late  Queen  of  Prussia,  statue 
of,  at  Charlottenburg,  33.     Her  death, 
and  the  effect  of  it  on  the  King,  38. 
Attachment  of  the  Prussians  to  her 
memory,  38. 
Louvre,  palace   of  the,  described,  229. 
Gallery  of  paintings  in  the,  229.    Mu- 
seum of  the,  enriched   by   paintings 
and  sculpture  during  Napoleon's  wars, 
230. 
Lyons,  journey   to,   172.     Situation  of, 
175.     Connexion  of,  with  the  United 
States,  175. 


M. 

Macready,  performing  Talfourd's  Ion  at 
Covent  Garden  Theatre,  332. 

Madonna  of  Raffaelle,  in  the  gallery  of 
paintings  at  Dresden,  49. 

Magdalen,  the  painting  of,  by  Correggio, 
51. 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


357 


Magdeburg,  strength  of,  34. 

Maid  of  Artois,  an  opera  composed  for 
Madame  Malibran,  by  Balfe,  332. 

Maison  Carree,  at  Nismes,  183.  Uses 
made  of  it,  184. 

Malibran,  Madame,  allusion  to  her  fate, 
5, 263.  Her  acting  in  the  Maid  of  Ar- 
tois, 332.  Her  delivery  of  the  Finale, 
332.  Concert  for  her  husband's  bene- 
fit, 333.  Her  familiarity  with  differ- 
ent languages,  334.  Her  dmtt,  with 
Mademoiselle  Grisi,  334.  The  pathos 
of  her  tones,  334.  Slight  incident 
respecting,  335.  Her  personal  appear- 
ance, 335. 

Malle  Poste,  travelling  by,  215. 

Manheim,  visit  to,  118. 

Maria  Theresa,  her  private  apartment  in 
the  Imperial  Palace  at  Vienna,  71. 
Austrian  attachment  to  her  memory, 
71. 

Marriage,  engagements  for,  in  France, 
321.  Introductory  to  liberty,  321. 
Difficulty  of  annulling  the  bonds  of,  in 
France,  323. 

Mars,  Mademoiselle,  the  pride  of  the  old 
French  comedy,  270.  Her  personal 
appearance  and  style  of  acting,  270. 
Her  personation  of  Valerie,  270. 

Marseillais,  laisser  aller  character  of  the, 
193.  Ignorance  of  the,  193.  Charla- 
tanerie  among  them,  193.  Their  fickle 
and  insubordinate  disposition  consid- 
ered, 200.  Their  language,  200.  Stat- 
ure and  physiognomy  of  the,  201. 

Marseilles,  peculiar  and  picturesque  as- 
pect of,  187.  The  Quai  at,  187. 
Pleasure-boats  there,  187.  Paucity  of 
public  edifices  in,  189;  of  paintings, 
and  the  cause  of  it,  189.  The  Old 
Town,  190.  The  New  Town,  190. 
Beauty  of  the  streets,  190.  Amuse- 
ments at,  in  the  warm  season,  191. 
The  cafes  and  their  concomitants, 
191 ;  pedleresses  in  them,  192.  A 
charlatan  at,  described,  194.  The  Tir 
au  Pistolet,  195.  Montagues  Russes, 
195.  Beauty  of  the  women  of,  201. 
Bordeaux  compared  with,  215. 


Masked  balls.     See  Bah  viastjuis. 

Masks,  worn  at  fancy  balls,  in  Paris,  at 
the  time  of  the  carnival,  310.  Worn 
in  the  streets,  312. 

Massaniello,  performance  of  tiie  opera 
of  at  Prague,  02;  at  Paris,  241. 

Mayence,  notice  of,  117.  The  cathedral, 
117. 

Mayerbeer,  performance  of  his  Robert  le 
Diable,  at  Vienna,  84  ;  at  the  Academie 
Royale,  in  Paris,  241.  Its  popularity, 
242.  Nourrit's  success  in  the  r6le  of 
the  Devil  Prince,  242.  Grand  display 
of  scenic  effect  in  the  third  act  of  it, 
242.     His  Les  Huguenots,  242. 

Mazillier,  sustains  a  character  in  La  Re- 
volte  au  Serail,  252. 

Meals,  custom  respecting,  in  the  south 
of  France,  181  ;  in  Paris,  181,  286,288, 
293. 

Medical  school  at  Montpellier,  205. 

Mediterranean  Sea,  first  view  of  the, 
186.  Translucency  of  its  waters  at 
Toulon,  197,  and  note.  AVithout  tides, 
197,  note. 

Memoircs,  commonness  of,  in  French 
circulating  libraries,  301 .  Their  char- 
acter, 301. 

Mer  de  Glace,  view  of,  154. 

Mettcmich,  Prince,  Prime  Minister  of 
Austria,  diplomacy  of,  05,  75.  His 
Chateau  at  Johannisberg,  102. 

Military,  high  standing  of  the,  at  Berlin, 
37 ;  in  Austria,  65. 

Military  exercises  at  Potsdam,  notice  of, 
41. 

Mines,  descent  into  the,  at  Hallein, 
88. 

Moldau,  the  river,  at  Prague,  60. 

Monkey,  trick  practised  with  the,  at 
Marseilles,  193. 

Montagues  Russes,  ride  down  the,  de- 
scribed, 195. 

Montaigne,  burial-place  of,  at  bordeaux, 
214. 

Montanvert,  ascent  of,  153.  View  from, 
154.     Descent  from,  155. 

Mont  Blanc,  excursion  towards,  150. 
Reflections  on  the  ascending  of,  155. 


358 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


De  Saussure's  discoveries  respecting, 
156. 

Montebello,  ship  of  the  line,  at  Toulon, 
described,  19b. 

Montessu,  compared  with  Mademoiselle 
Taglioni,  254. 

Montjoie,  remarks  on  his  appearance  and 
performances,  257. 

Montmorency,  associations  with,  327. 
Hermitage  of  Rousseau  at,  327. 

Montpellier,  skies  and  airs  of,  203.  El- 
evated site  of,  204.  Promenades 
there,  204.  Ancient  pile  near,  205. 
Medical  school  at,  205.  Visit  to  Nar- 
cissa's  grave  at,  206.  Cette  the  port 
of,  206. 

Morals,  of  the  northern  and  southern 
districts  of  Germany,  57.  Civilization 
more  favorable  to,  than  primitive  sim- 
plicity, 77.  Of  the  Viennese,  consid- 
ered, 84.  Of  the  Swiss,  170.  Of  the 
Marseillaises,  202.  Of  the  French  la- 
dies, considered,  320,  322.  Of  Euro- 
pean cities,  322.  Of  France  compared 
with  other  countries,  324.  Tendency 
of  the  Roman  Catholic  religion  in  re- 
gard to,  324. 

Moreau,  General,  place  of  his  death,  53. 
Notice  of  his  character,  54. 

Moustache,  the  training  of  the,  among 
the  European  soldiery,  64.  Sported  by 
the  Parisian  dldgant,  314. 

Munich,  arrival  at,  92.  The  Golden 
Stag  House  at,  92.  Diversions  there 
for  the  Queen  Mother  of  Naples,  92. 
Remarks  on,  93.  Canova's  group  of 
the  Graces  at,  94.  Churches  in,  94. 
Palaces,  95.  The  theatre  there,  95. 
Performance  of  Der  Freischutz  at,  95. 
The  English  garden  in,  96. 

Musard's,  instrumental  concerts  at,  308. 
Masked  balls  at,  310. 

Music,  commonness  of,  in  Germany,  47, 
74.  The  orchestral,  in  Germany,  63. 
Character  of  the  legitimate  German, 
84.  Fondness  of  the  Parisians  for, 
280.  See  Academic  Royale  de  Musique 
and  Concerts. 


N. 


Name,  custom  of  inscribing  the,  on  the 
turret-walls  of  the  cathedral  at  Straa- 
burg,  128.  Rude  inscription  of  the 
writer's,  on  the  Pont  du  Gard,  185. 

Naples,  the  Queen  Mother  of,  at  Mu- 
nich, 92.  Diversions  contrived  for, 
92.  Personal  appearance  of,  92.  Ob- 
ject and  character  of  her  excursion  to 
Germany,  93. 

Naples,  hired  services  of  the  Swiss  in, 
169. 

Napoleon,  triumphal  arch  of,  3,  9.  Al- 
lusions to,  9,  222.  Enthusiasm  of  the 
Parisians  for,  9.  Reflections  on  his 
greatness,  148. 

Narcissa,  extract  from  Young's  Night 
Thoughts  respecting,  205.  The  grave 
of,  visited  and  described,  206. 

National  Guard.     See  Garde  J^ationale. 

Necker,  the  abode  of,  at  Coppet,  165. 

Nelson,  Lord,  falls  in  the  arms  of  Victo- 
ry, 330.     Reflections  on  his  death,  330. 

Nemours,  Duke  of,  240. 

Night,  on  travelling  by,  130. 

Nismes,  population,  situation,  and  trade 
of,  182.  Buildings  at,  182.  The  an- 
cient amphitheatre  there,  and  reflec- 
tions on  it,  182.  The  Maison  Carree 
there,  183.  Aqueduct  of  the  Pont  du 
Gard  near,  184. 

Nonnenworth,  the  beauty  of,  and  its  con- 
vent, 109.  Legend  respecting  a  castle 
near,  110. 

Norma,  La,  success  of  Giulia  Grisi  in,  6, 
265. 

Notre  Dame,  the  cathedral  of,  described, 
220.  The  bell  on,  221,  Situation  of, 
222. 

Notre  Dame  de  Paris,  a  romance  by  Vic- 
tor Hugo,  its  popularity  and  celebrity, 
302. 

Notte,  a  painting  by  Correggio,  51. 

Nourrit,  a  French  artiste,  attached  to  the 
French  Opera  House,  238.  His  suc- 
cess in  the  role  of  the  Devil  Prince  in 


GENERAL  IiNDEX. 


359 


Mayerbeer's  Robert  le  Diable,  242;  in 
Halevy's  La  Juive,  2-16.  Remarks  on 
his  peculiar  style  and  personal  appear- 
ance, 24G.  His  yearly  pension,  248. 
Novel,  the  most  popular  writers  of  the, 
in  France,  302;  Victor  Hugo,  302; 
Balzac,  3U2;  Paul  de  Kock,  303.  Pe- 
culiar character  of  the  French,  303. 


O. 


Odeon,  a  theatre  in  Paris,  remarked  on, 
278. 

Oels,  Duke  of  Brunswick,  his  burial- 
place,  32. 

Opera,  superiority  of  the,  in  Paris,  6,2G6. 
Artists  attached  to  the,  at  L'Academie 
Royale  de  Musique,  238.  Seldom  at- 
tended by  the  royal  family,  240.  Rea- 
son for  dwelling  on  the,  207.  See 
French  Opera  and  Italian  Opera. 

Opera  Comique,  in  Paris,  remarks  on 
the,  278. 

Orchestra,  music  of  the,  in  Germany,  63. 
At  the  Cafe  des  Aveugles,  in  the  Pa- 
lais Royal,  at  Paris,  described,  236. 
Excellence  of  the,  at  the  Italian  Opera, 
259. 

Orleans,  objects  of  interest  at,  219. 

Orleans,  Duke  of,  240. 

Orleans,  Passage  d',  in  the  Palais  Royal, 
at  Paris,  splendid  appearance  of,  at 
evening,  234. 

Osnabruck,  journey  to,  28.  Notice  of, 
28.  Its  bombardment,  26.  View  from 
the  ramparts  of,  29.  Strictness  of  the 
authorities  at,  29.  Arrest  there,  for 
cigar-smoking,  29. 


Paganini,  the  magician  of  fiddlers,  333. 

Paintings,  remarks  on  Dutch,  24;  on  the 
permanency  of  colors  in  Correggio's, 
51.  Cause  of  the  fewness  of,  at  Mar- 
seilles, 189.  French  and  Italian,  com- 
pared, 230.     See  Gallery  of  Paintings. 

Palais  Royale,  visited,  4,  232.    History  of 


the,  232.  Its  magnificent  area  and 
promenades,  232.  Tenants  of  the, 
233.  The  promenade  circumscribing 
the  court,  233.  The  Passage  d'Or- 
leans  in  the,  described,  234  ;  its  splen- 
did appearance  at  evening,  2.34.  Glance 
at  the  principal  features  of  the,  234. 
Variety  and  brilliancy  of  its  magasins 
and  cafis,  235.  The  Cafe  des  Aveu- 
gles in,  236.  Atmosphere  of  gayety 
about  it,  237  ;  its  effect  on  the  feelings, 
238. 

Pantheon,  at  Paris,  description  of  the, 
223.  Inscription  on  the  frieze  of  its 
portico,  223.  Tombs  of  Voltaire, 
Rousseau,  and  Lannes,  in  the,  223. 
Echo  in  the,  224.  Its  situation,  224. 
View  from  its  top,  224.  Its  dome  and 
painting  in  fresco,  225. 

Paris,  approach  to,  from  Rouen,  3.  The- 
atres in,  5,  238.  L'Academie  Royale 
de  Musique  in,  5, 238.  The  peculiar  at- 
traction of,  6.  Superiority  of  the  op- 
era in,  5,  267.  Attachment  of  Paris- 
ians to,  7.  Courtesy  to  strangers  in, 
8,  298.  Described,  8.  Monuments  of 
antiquity  in,  9.  Unites  the  graces  of 
ancient  and  modern  architecture,  10. 
Sources  of  gratification  in,  10.  Sched- 
ule  of  a  day  in,  13.  Mrs.  Jamie- 
son's  remark  respecting,  14.  Depar- 
ture from,  17.  Journey  from  Bordeaux 
to,  216.  Notre  Dame  in, 220.  Church- 
es in,  222.  The  Pantheon,  223.  View 
of,  from  the  top  of  the  Pantheon,  224. 
Palaces  in,  226,  232.  The  Tuileries, 
226.  View  of,  from  the  Place  de  Rev- 
olution, 227.  Palace  of  the  Louvre  in, 
228.  Gallery  of  paintings  in  the 
Louvre  at,  229.  The  Palais  Royal 
in,  described,  232.  The  Ballet  in, 
251.  The  Italian  Opera  in,  257.  The 
Theatre  Fran^ais  in,  268;  de  la  Porte 
St.  Martin,  274.  Lukewarmncss  as  to 
religion  in,  277.  The  Gymnase,  and 
other  theatres  in,  278.  Ten  thousand 
students  in,  279.  Support  of  theatres 
in,  279.  Theco/i^jsin,  281.  The  ho- 
tels,  261.      Mode   of  living   in,   281. 


360 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


Restaurants  in,  281,  291.  La  vie  eti 
gargon  there,  282.  Breakfasting  houses 
in,  282.  Playing  of  billiards,  2'.)0. 
Favorable  to  literary  men,  298,  300. 
The  Bibliotheque  Royale,  in,  298. 
Circulating  libraries,  300.  Concerts 
of  instrumental  music  in,  305.  The 
carnival,  310.  The  hal  masqui  in, 
310.  The  crowds  and  excitement  on 
the  Boulevards  during  the  last  days  of 
the  carnival,  312.  The  iUgant  in, 
314.  The  bourgeois  and  National 
Guard  of,  315.  American  beauty  in, 
319.  Moral  atmosphere  of,  320.  In- 
frequency  of  inebriation  and  profane- 
ness  there,  322.  Other  objects  of  in- 
terest in,  32G.  Departure  from,  and 
reflections  thereupon,  328. 

Parisians,  attachment  of,  to  Paris,  7. 
Enthusiasm  of,  for  Napoleon,  9.  Man- 
ners and  character  of,  10.  Compared 
with  Englishmen,  11.  Their  passion 
for  gambling,  14  ;  for  theatrical  ex- 
hibitions, 279 ;  for  music,  230 ;  for 
billiards,  290.  Foreign  prejudices  re- 
specting them,  considered,  313.  Their 
ideas  as  to  dress,  314.  Their  charac- 
ter, 315.  Glory  and  pleasure  the  two 
idols  of,  316.  Their  sense  of  honor, 
316.     Selfish,  316.     See  French. 

Passage  d'Orleans,  its  splendid  appear- 
ance at  evening,  234. 

Patois,  spoken  at  Marseilles,  200. 

Pedleresses,  at  the  Marseilles'  cafes, 
described,  192. 

People's  Garden.     See  Folks- Garten. 

Perrot,  a  danseur,  the  easy  agility  and 
ugliness  of,  257. 

Peslh,  steamboat  voyage  to,  77.  Royal 
palace  near,  78.  Reflections  on,  78. 
Its  buildings  and  architecture,  79. 
The  Jager-Horn  hotel  and  the  guests 
at,  80.  Theatre  there,  81.  Wagon 
ride  from,  to  Vienna,  81. 

Peter  the  Great,  house  occupied  b}',  near 
Amsterdam,  23,  27. 

Petrarch,  Vaucluse  the  residence  of, 
179.     His  genius  and  passion,  180. 

Picture  Gallery.     See  Paintings. 


Plantes,  the  Jardin  des,  7. 

Poictiers,  town  and  battle  of,  216. 

Police,  examination  by  the,  upon  passing 
from  Switzerland  into  France,  172. 
Effects  of  gold  upon  the,  173,  329. 
Examination  by  the,  at  Portsmouth, 
329. 

Pompadour,  Madame  la  Marquise,  mis- 
tress of  Louis  the  Fifteenth,  277.  Her 
visits  to  the  Swiss  cottages  in  the 
gardens  of  the  Lesser  Trianon,  327, 
note. 

Poniatowski,  Prince,  death  of,  and  mon- 
ument to,  47. 

Pont  du  Gard,  aqueduct  of  the,  near 
Nismes,  184.  Inscription  on  the,  by 
a  rustic  artist,  185. 

Popes  buried  at  Avignon,  177. 

Porcelain,  notice  of  the  Dresden,  53. 

Porte  St.  Martin,  Theatre  de  la,  trage- 
dies performed  there,  274. 

Portsmouth,  in  England,  arrival  at,  from 
France,  328.  Police  examination  there, 
329.  Visit  to  the  packet  office  at, 
329.  The  Victory  at,  and  Lord  Nel- 
son, 329.  Excursion  from,  to  London, 
330. 

Potsdam,  ride  to,  from  Berlin,  39.  Palaces 
at,  40.  The  private  room  of  Frederic 
the  Great  at,  40.  Account  of  the  new- 
palace  in,  40.  Military  exercises  at, 
41.  Death  of  Frederic  the  Great 
there,  41.  ChAteau  of  Sans  Souci  in, 
41.  Frederic  the  Great's  burial-place, 
43. 

Potter,  Paulus,  an  eminent  Dutch  paint- 
er, 25,  and  note. 

Poultry,  particulars  respecting  French, 
295. 

Prague,  ride  to,  from  Dresden,  58. 
Schwarze  Ross  hotel  at,  and  its  com- 
pany, 58.  Its  tranquillity,  59.  Reflec- 
tions on  the  battle  of,  59.  The  bridge 
across  the  Moldau  at,  60.  Islands 
near,  and  rifle-shooting,  60.  The 
promenade  there,  61.  Drive  about  the 
environs  of,  61.  Display  of  soldiery 
at,  64. 

Prater,  a  promenade  at  Vienna,  72. 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


361 


Pre  aux  Clercs,  by  Herold,  popularity 
of,  278. 

Presburg,  excursion  to,  76.  Notice  of, 
and  of  its  inhabitants,  76. 

Princes,  Hotel  des,  at  Paris,  4. 

Profaneness,  infrequency  of,  in  Paris, 
322. 

Protestant  America,  reflections  on,  324. 

Prova  d'  un'  Opera  Seria,  Lablache's 
success  in,  260.  Humorous  scene  in 
it,  2G0.     Conclusion  of  the  piece,  261. 

Prussia,  the  Royal  Family  of,  38.  Pop- 
ularity of  the  King,  38.  Incident 
illustrating  the  jealousy  of  the  govern- 
ment of,  107. 

Prussians,  hatred  of,  towards  the  French, 
37.  Their  altaciiment  to  their  King, 
38 ;  to  the  memory  of  the  late  Queen, 
Louisa,  39. 

Pucelle  d'Orleans,  La,  patriotism  of, 
219. 

Puritani,  I,  by  Bellini,  its  success,  262. 


<i. 


Quack  medicines,  vending  of,  at  Mar- 
seilles, 194. 

Quai,  at  Marseilles,  animated  appearance 
of  the,  187.  On  the  Loire  from  Ar- 
gennes  to  Tours,  217. 


R. 


Raffaelle,  the  painter,  notice  of  his  Ma- 
donna, 49.  Canova  compared  with, 
94.     His  Transfiguration,  231. 

Reserve,  remarks  respecting,  in  aristo- 
cratic countries,  337.  Cause  of,  in 
London,  338. 

Restaurants,  bands  of  music  stationed  in 
the  German,  74.  The  Parisian,  281. 
The  most  celebrated  in  Paris,  291. 
Very's,  described,  292,  293.  The 
Rocher  de  Cancale,  292.  The  Cafe 
de  Paris,  292.     Grignon's,  293. 

Reunions.  See  Bals  Masques  and  Co7i- 
cert. 

Revolte  au  Serail,  a  ballet  performed  at 


the  Academic  Royale  de  Musique  in 
Paris,  251.     Analysis  of  it,  2.52. 

Rhine,  rapidity  of  the,  at  Bingen,  104. 
Passage  down  the,  and  account  of  the 
boatman,  108.  Excursion  to  Mayence 
on  the,  116. 

Rhone,  steamboat  passage  down  the,  176. 
Bridge  over  the,  at  St.  Esprit,  176. 

Richelieu,  the  Palais  Royal  commenced 
under  the  auspices  of,  232. 

Rifle  shooting  near  Prague,  60. 

Robert  le  Diable,  by  Mayerbeer,  per- 
formance of,  at  the  Academic  Royale 
in  Paris,  241.  Its  popularity  and  ab- 
sorbing interest,  242,  244.  The  r6le 
of  the  Devil  Prince,  Nourrit's  chef- 
d'amvre,  242.  Scenic  effect  in  the 
third  act,  242. 

Rocher  de  Cancale,  a  restaurant  in  Paris, 
particulars  respecting  the,  292. 

Romance.     See  A''oveL 

Rotterdam,  departure  from  London  for, 
19.  Arrival  at,  21.  Ride  from  to 
Amsterdam,  22. 

Rouen,  passage  to,  from  Havre  de  Grace, 
2.  Commissionaires  at,  2.  The  Hotel 
d'Angleterre,  2.  The  cathedral  there,  2. 
Notice  of,  3.  Distance  of,  from  Paris,  3. 

Rousseau,  Jean-Jacques,  reflections  on, 
139.  Remarks  on  his  character  and 
writings,  140.  His  Julie,  140.  Cited 
respecting  the  Lake  of  Geneva  and  its 
environs,  142.  Gibbon  contrasted  with, 
144.  Tomb  of,  223.  Autograph  of, 
in  the  Royal  Library  at  Paris,  299. 
Hermitage  of,  at  Montmorency,  327. 

Royal  Arsenal,  at  Toulon,  199. 

Library.    See  Bibliothique  Royale. 

Museum,  at  Berlin,  36. 

Palace,  at  Berlin,  35.     See  Palais 


Royal. 

Rubens,  Peter  Paul,  remarks  on  his 
paintings,  26.  Canova  comprred  with, 
94.  Painting  of  the  crucifixion  of  St. 
Peter  by,  115. 

Rubini,  first  tenor  in  Europe,  remarks 
on  his  style  of  singing  and  pathos,  5, 
248,  258.  His  excellence  in  La  Som- 
nambula,  358.     At  a  concert,  333. 


46 


362 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


Rudesheim,  cultivation  of  vines  at,  104. 

View  from  ruins  near,  104 
Russian     mountains.      See    Montagnes 

Russes. 


Saardam,  cottage  in  the  dockyard  of,  oc- 
cupied by  Peter  the  Great,  23,  27. 

Sail-boats  at  Marseilles,  188. 

St.  Cloud  and  its  Chateau,  326. 

St.  Esprit,  the  bridge  at,  176.  Its  mag- 
nificence and  durability,  176. 

St.  Paul's  church,  in  London,  visit  to, 
and  remarks  on,  18. 

St.  Peter,  Rubens's  painting  of  the  cruci- 
fixion of,  115.  Allusion  to  the  church 
of,  at  Rome,  347. 

St.  Stephen's  church,  at  Vienna,  69. 

Salt  Works  at  Hallein,  visited  and  de- 
scribed, 88. 

Saltsburg,  arrival  at,  87.  Situation  of, 
87.  Emblems  of  war  and  religion  in, 
87.  The  chapel  at,  87.  Scenery  in 
the  vicinity  of,  90.  Large  numbers  of 
Cretins  in  the  vicinity  of,  90.  Ob- 
jects of  interest  at,  91 .  Gardens  and 
statues,  91. 

Sans  Souci  Chateau,  visit  to  and  notice 
of,  41.  The  favorite  residence  of  Fred- 
eric the  Great,  42. 

Saussure,  De,  a  Swiss  naturalist,  remarks 
on  his  ascent  of  Mont  Blanc,  156. 
Grotto  discovered  ]>y,  157. 

Savoy, scenery  in,  151. 

Saxe,  tomb  and  monument  in  honor  of, 
at  S  trash  urg,  126. 

Saxe  Suisse,  romantic  scenery  of,  55. 

Saxony,  royal  family  of, 56. 

Scenery,  natural,  reflections  on  viewing 
at  sunset,  120. 

Schoenbrunn,  notice  of  the  palace  of, 
near  Vienna,  71.     The  chateau  of,  71. 

Scribe,  the  most  celebrated  vnudevilliste 
in  France  at  the  present  day,  304.  The 
writer  of  the  paroles  in  the  grand  ope- 
ras, and  of  successful  petites  comedies, 
304.  Comediette  on  the  American 
stage,  borrowed  from,  304. 


Skepticism,  reflections  on,  144. 

Smoking  cigars,  arrest  for,  at  Osnabruck, 
29. 

Soldiery,  display  of,  at  Potsdam,  41  ;  at 
a  military  funeral  at  Prague,  64.  The 
moustache  of  the,  64.  Remarks  on 
French,  315. 

Somnambula,  La, an  opera, Rubini's  suc- 
cess in,  258.  Madame  Malibran's  per- 
formance of  Amina  in,  334. 

Stadt  Haus,  at  Amsterdam,  24. 

Slael,  Madame  de,  Coppet  the  residence 
of,  165.     Reflections  on,  165. 

Statues,  Roman,  at  Toulouse,  210.  In 
the  garden  of  the  Tuileries,  227.  Gre- 
cian, 230. 

Strangers,  courtesy  to,  in  Paris,  8.  Lite- 
rary facilities  for,  at  Paris,  10.  2!J8, 300. 

Strasburg,  notice  of  tlie  city  and  its  pop- 
ulation, 126.  Its  cathedral  and  the 
spire,  126.  Viev/  of,  from  the  cathe- 
dral, 127.  Predominance  of  German 
characler  at,  128. 

Strauss,  the  (Jermaii  nnisician,  74. 

Sunset,  on  viewing  nature  at,  120. 

Swiss,  remark  as  to  the  morality  of  the, 
77,  170.  Present  degeneracy  of  the, 
169.     3Iilitary,  189. 

Swiss  cottages,  in  the  gardens  of  Lesser 
Trianon,  at  Paris,  327.  Resorted  to 
by  Louis  the  Fourteenth,  327,  note. 

Switzerland,  a  disappointed  traveller's  re- 
marks on  the  scenery  of,  l'S2.  Scene- 
ry of,  near  Berne,  136,  139;  near 
Geneva,  150;  in  Savoy,  150;  at  Cha- 
mouni,  156.  Without  distinct  individ- 
ual character,  168.  Present  fallen  con- 
dition of,  168.  Hopelessness  of  her 
recovery,  170. 


Taglioni,  Mademoiselle,  7.  At  the  head 
of  the  corps  de  ballet  at  the  Acadeniie 
Roy  ale,  238.  Her  success  in  La  Re  vol- 
te an  Serail,  252,  257 ;  in  La  Sylphide, 
253  Her  personal  appearance,  253.  Re- 
marks on  her  movements  in  the  danse, 
254.     Compared   with   other   artistes, 


GENERAL  INDEX. 


363 


254.  Her  character,  255.  Her  hus- 
band, 255.  Engagement  of,  at  St.  Pe- 
tersburg, 255. 

Talma,  the  tragedian,  remark  on,  2G9. 

Tamburini,  the  singer,  5.  2G'2.  His  rapid 
vocahzatioa,  202.  His  performance  in 
I  Puritani,  2(J2.  At  a  concert  in 
London,  323. 

Tentation,  La,  o.  ballet-opera  represented 
at  the  Academie  lloyale,  in  Paris,  244. 
The  scene  in  it  characterized  as  L'En- 
fer,  244. 

Thalberg,  a  German  pianist,  at  De  Be- 
riot's  concert  given  in  London,  333. 
335. 

Thames  river,  passage  down  the,  and 
remarks,  20. 

Theatres,  in  Paris,  5,  238,  208,  277 ;  in 
London,  18,332;  in  Amsterdam,  24  ; 
at  Hanover,  33;  in  Berlin,  37;  at 
Prague,  62.  American  and  European 
representations  at,  63.  At  Pesth,  81 ; 
at  Vienna,  84;  at  Munich,  115;  at 
Marseilles,  191.  Admission  behind 
the  scenes  of,  191.  In  Toulouse,  21 1. 
In  Bordeaux,  312.  Further  particu- 
lars respecting  the  Parisian,  241.  Sup- 
port of,  in  Paris,  277.  The  London  re- 
visited, .332. 

Three  Kings.  See  Drci  Koiiige  von  Cijln. 

Tides  in  the  Mediterranean  Sea,  197, 
note. 

Tomb  of  the  Three  Kings,  at  Cologne, 
114,  131. 

Tortoni's,  ices  and  liqueurs  at,  284. 
Toulon,  excursion  to,  190.  Situation 
and  importance  of,  196.  Its  harbour, 
197.  French  navy  at,  197.  Translu- 
cency  of  the  waters  at,  197,  and  note. 
Description  of  the  Montebello  ship 
of  the  line  at,  198. 

Toulouse,  objects  of  interest  in,  210. 
Bridge  there,  210.  Water  tower,  210. 
Roman  amphitheatre  and  aqueduct  at, 
210,  Roman  statues  there,  210.  The 
siege  and  battle  of,  210.  Theatre  in, 
211. 

Tours,  bridge  and  objects  of  interest  at, 
217. 


Transfiguration,  a  painting  by  RafFaelle, 
231. 

Travellers,  American,  sensations  of,  in 
Europe,  21.  Unsatisfactory  accounts 
given  by,  330.  Character  of  Eng- 
lish, 339.  The  prejudices  of  Ameri- 
can respecting  foreigners,  343. 

Travelling,  reflections  on,  23,  44.  Ex- 
citement from,  48.  Wearing  influence 
of,  on  body  and  mind,  129.  By  Malle 
Poste,215.  Its  tendency  to  a  desulto- 
ry life  considered,  341.  Effects  of,  on 
one's  own  condition,  342.  American 
prejudices  respecting  foreigners  at  the 
time  of  commencing,  343.  Stifles  na- 
tional vanity,  343.  Other  illusions  re- 
moved by,  344.  ESects  of,  on  one's 
views  of  human  happiness,  344.  Ef- 
fects of,  on  Americans,  upon  their  re- 
turn home.  345.  Solid  advantages  of, 
346. 

Trianons,  Les  Deux,  at  Paris,  327.  Re- 
marks on  the  gardens  of  the  Lesser  of 
the,  327,  uotc. 

Triumphal  arch  of  Napoleon,  at  Paris, 
3,9. 

Tuileries.  the  garden  of  the,  7,  226. 
View  from  the,  8.  The  Chateau  of 
the,  described,  226. 


Ude,  gastronomic  immortality  of,  294. 
Utrecht,  journey  to,  from  Amsterdam,  28. 


Varietes,  Theatre  des,  in  Paris,  charac- 
ter of  the,  276. 

Vases,  containing  the  hearts  of  the  im- 
perial family  of  Austria,  70. 

Vaucluse,  excursion  to,  177.  The  cele- 
brated fountain  of,  178.  Appearances 
of  nature  there,  178.  The  residence 
of  Petrarch,  179.  Column  to  Laura 
there,  and  her  dwellinghouse,  180. 

Vaud, extracts  from  Rousseau  respecting 
the  Canton  of,  142. 


364 


GENERAL   INDEX. 


Vaudeville,  Theitre    do,  performers    at 
the  276,  304.     Characteristic  features 
of  the,  305. 
Veron,  the  Cafe,  a  favorite  breakfasting- 
house  with  the  English  and  Americans  I 
in  Paris,    283.     Remariis  on  the  ser- 
vice there,  283. 
Very's  Restaurant  in  Paris,  292.     Its  el- 
egance,   293.     The     salon,    293.     Its 
viandes  and  the  readiest  way  to  pro- 
cure them,  294.     The  carte  du  restau- 
rant, 294,  2G.     The  French   volaille, 
■    294.     The   wines,  29G.     Particularity 

of  the  bills  made  out  there,  297. 
Victory,  the  ship,  at  Portsmouth,  329- 
Vienna,  character  of  the  Cabinet  of,  65. 
Approach  to,  66.     Archduke  Charles 
Hotel  at,  67.      The   Imperial  library 
at,  67.     Public  rooms,  68.     Churches 
and  architecture  in,  69.     Hearts  of  the 
imperial  family  of  Austria  preserved 
at,  70.     Palaces   in,   70.     Its  arsenal, 
72.   Promenades  and  gardens,  72.  Ex- 
cursion   from,  to  Presburg  and  Pesth, 
76.     Return  to,  in  a  wagon,  82.   Iden- 
tification of,  with  Austria,  83.     Opera 
at,  84.     Prices  for  admission  to  public 
amusements  in,  84. 
Viennese,  fondness  of,  for  instrumental 
music,  74.     Their  morality  and  deco- 
rum considered,  84.     Fondness  of,  for 
pleasure,  86. 
Vigne.     See  De  la  Vigne. 
Vocal  concerts,  infrequency  of,  in  Paris, 

305. 
Volaille,      particulars     respecting     the 

French,  295. 
Volks-Garten,  a  pleasure-ground  at  Vi- 
enna, noticed,  73. 


Voltaire,  intimacy  of  Frederic  the 
Great  with,  40,  164.  Visit  to  the 
residence  of,  at  Ferney,  161.  His 
death,  162.  The  old  gardener's  re- 
collections of,  162.  Character  and 
skepticism  of,  163.  Tomb  of,  223.  Au- 
tograph of,  in  the  Royal   Library   at 

Paris,  299.  \ 

Voyage,  to  Europe,  1.     Return,  340. 


W. 


Water,  distribution  of,  through  the  city 
of  Toulouse,  210. 

Water  excursions,  musings  on,  188. 

Wellington,  Duke  of,  his  personal  ap- 
pearance, 331. 

Wiesbaden,  a  place  of  fashionable  resort, 
101.  Tlie  Kursaal  at,  101.  Gambling 
at,  102. 

Wine,  manufacture  of,  at  JohanniSberg, 
303.  Prevalence  of  drinking,  in  south- 
ern France,  181.  The  Bordeaux,  214. 
At  Very's  restaurant,  296. 

Wine  cellar,  at  Bremen,  30. 


Young,  Edward,  extract  from  his  Night 
Thouo-hts,  respecting  Narcissa,  206. 


Z. 


Zoological  Gardens  at  London,  visited, 
331. 


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